The Final Circle
by Sufficient Velocity
Summary: This is a Babylon 5 centered tale. It explores a BSG style exodus due to the loss of the Earth Minbari war. It becomes a crossover with nBSG as of Interlude 1 before Part 2 begins. If your desire is only to read a Battlestar Galactica fic, feel free to start there. There may be changes to the timeline for plot purposes, but I am trying to build on canon not alter it, if I can.
1. Disclaimer & Prologue

Hello all. I've been thinking about this story for a while. I've also been considering writing a fanfic for a while. I didn't think this would be my first attempt. The scope of what I am hoping to do is pretty vast, perhaps too large for a first effort, but I got the itch and ideas just started to pop, so I thought, what the hell.

As this is my first effort, I would appreciate any feedback, good or bad. However, please bare in mind that while I appreciate your feedback, I may not always agree with it, much less use it.

This is a Babylon 5 tale. I will try to keep the feel of the shows, but I will be drawing on the EU materials a good deal. You will see aspects of the new Battlestar Galactica, because the theme I am exploring is the question of what would have happened if the Battle of the Line had gone poorly and the Earth Alliance's evacuation plans had been executed. However, the timeline has been altered to allow for many friendly faces to participate.

I'm not sure if I need a disclaimer or not. Many of the fics here don't have them, but some of the best do. I figure, might as well try to emulate the best, so here goes.

 **Disclaimers:**  
 **Title: THE FINAL CIRCLE**  
 **Author: Sufficient Velocity**  
 **Rating: K+**  
 **Summary:** Due to a tiny alteration in the timeline, the path of the Vorlon's Circle is altered, leading to the downfall of the Earth Alliance and the launching of an Exodus fleet, launched into space in the hopes that what remains of humanity can escape the Minbari and find their way to a refuge and new home.

-COPYRIGHT/DISCLAIMER NOTICE-  
I own nothing. The rights to the Babylon 5 setting and a majority of the characters in this work of fiction are owned by others. Only certain characters, locations, and technologies are mine and these are the creation of the author who is solely responsible for them as such. The author is solely responsible for the content of this story.

Note:  
I would like to thank Tarellen, who has been acting as a beta for me, focusing on accuracy to the setting. He has been a massive help. I hope he has enjoyed getting the initial peak at what I have been working on. I would also like to thank Kalvasflam, who came in as a beta about midway through. His grasp of grammar and story flow have been invaluable. Thanks, guys!

Dedication:  
To my kids, who inspire me every day with their creativity. I love you guys.  
Ok, enough sappy stuff. On to the story.

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 **The Final Circle**  
Prologue

 **Earth - April, 2248  
**  
The rattle of the spinning cylinder, followed by the ratcheting click of the hammer being fully drawn back, briefly drowned out the sound of his own near silent weeping. Michael Jankowski, former Captain in the Earth Force Fleet, set the cocked Colt Model 1917 revolver down on the table next to the several shot glasses of Kentucky Bourbon he had poured for himself. The pearl handle on the .45 caliber revolver reflected dully on the sides of the glasses. He stared at the reflection, an excuse not to look again at the muted video screen. His distant ancestor had been issued the revolver while serving in the United States Navy during World War 1. It had stayed in the family ever since, and been passed down to whomever happened to be the ranking Navy or Fleet member ever since. It had acquired the pearl handle somewhere along the line, but that event was lost to history.

These days it was difficult to get permission to carry a slug thrower as a sidearm, rather than the standard issue PPG. He had had to fight long and hard, filing numerous petitions and even utilizing family influence, in order to get the special dispensation. Now he almost wished that he hadn't. It would make this little ritual he had fallen into so much simpler. It would have been over long ago, on the very first night.

Without looking at the vidscreen, he picked up a shot glass and tossed the drink down his throat. Embracing the fire inside, he reached out, picked up the gun, pressed it under his jaw, and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked on a dry chamber. Again. It had been the same for months, maybe even a year. Once a month, when the pain became too great, he would sit down watching the unending news of lost battles and destroyed ships, and take out his gun and play Russian Roulette. Six chambers, one bullet. Spin, cock, fire. The first time he had even written a note for whoever might find his body. It had read simply "On my head." But the hammer had landed on a dry chamber. And it had been the same the next month. And the next. After the sixth or seventh time, he had even taken the gun to the range, to make sure it was in working order. He had fired six rounds dead center into the silhouette, and left, wondering what the purpose of it all was.

And as the months had passed by, despair and unending debriefings, interspersed with the occasional dry fire under his chin, he began cursing that gun. If he had had the standard issue PPG, it would have all ended that first night. But no, he had to embrace his fraggin' family's fraggin' history.

His eyes were pulled again to the vidscreen, where he witnessed another group of ships cut to ribbons under the guns of those untouchable Minbari monsters. Thousands more dead, on his head. All on his head. Just waiting for them to get to Earth and then the death of billions would crush him, eradicate his sanity once and for all.

Still weeping, he downed another shot, and then looked again at the pistol bitterly. A knock sounded dimly at the door, but he ignored it. _What the hell are the odds that I'm still alive after all these tries?_ he thought to himself. His booze soaked mind was incapable of that level of math though. _To hell with it_ , he thought. He picked up the gun again, and again spun the cylinder. He pulled back the hammer, pointed it at his head, and squeezed. _Click_. He pulled back the hammer again and squeezed. _Click_. Again. _Click_. Again. _Click_. AGAIN. _Click_.

The knocking became more insistent. Still ignoring it, he pulled back the gun and stared at it in disbelief. Five empty chambers. _Five_. He knew for a fact that the next chamber contained the live round, but the rules of the game didn't allow him to pull the trigger now. _Frag this_ , he thought, glancing again at the screen. The knocking had turned into a pounding. _And frag you, whoever you are_. He tossed back two more shots, then pulled out four more rounds and fed them into the revolver. Technically it wasn't cheating as long as he left one chamber empty. He finally smiled to himself, took one more drink, spun the cylinder, cocked the revolver, pointed and squeezed. The quiet click was deafening. His arms began to shake violently, and the gun dropped to the floor, as his sobs overwhelmed him.

"Well isn't this a pathetic display," said a voice from the doorway.

"Gen...General Lefcourt?" asked Jankowski. "How….how did you get in?" Not waiting for a response as he now noticed the splintered door frame, he simply said, "get out."

"Sorry, Jankowski, no can do. Pull yourself together, you sorry piece of shit. It would appear that the man upstairs has plans for you."

Jankowski looked down at the gun. "Yes, it would appear that God wants me to live."

"God? Who the hell said anything about God? What could God possibly want with your sorry, stupid, worthless ass? No, I'm talking about the Commander of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It is with the greatest disgust that I am here to inform you that you are being recalled. You are being reinstated at the rank of Lieutenant. The man upstairs seems to want to send some kind of message to the public, all hands on deck, all humans united, that kind of crap. And I am being burdened with reclaiming you. You are still qualified on Starfuries. You are to report for retraining and to take your position as 2nd in command of a squadron. Apparently we need all of the experienced pilots we can get. So you get a chance to redeem yourself, Jankowski, for whatever good it will do you. Your orders," Lefcourt stated, stepping forward and handing over a sealed envelope. When Jankowski took the envelope, he bent over and picked up the gun. "I'll be taking this. You don't get to take the easy way out. In the unlikely event that the human race and both of us survive, you can ask for it back." With those words, the general turned and exited the room.

Jankowski walked over and attempted to close the door, but it was well and truly busted. Not really caring, he turned and flopped onto the bed in exhaustion. Perhaps someone upstairs really did have plans for him.  
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 **  
Earth Orbit - May, 2248  
**  
"Break right! BREAK RIGHT!" the voice in Jankowski's ear screamed. It was his Squadron Leader, Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Sinclair. "Damnit, Jankowski. Your job is to cover Mitchell! Showboating like that is going to get yourself and your wingman killed! Squadron! Form up. Let's do it again."

Jankowski swore to himself, as the squadron formed back up to practice the combat maneuvers again. Sinclair was a hard ass, and nothing but a jumped up Lieutenant Commander, but he was Jankowski's CO, and he represented Jankowski's only shot at redemption, so he would follow orders and do his best. Besides, his piloting skills were really starting to come back. Maybe it was time to show these young pups what flying really meant.

The squadron resumed a nominal patrol pattern, flying near the L2 Lagrangian point. After several minutes the scenario resumed when their "sensors" picked up an anomalous reading ahead. In this case, those "sensors" were actually a radio channel to a nearby Hyperion running the exercise. Their actual sensor suite was turned off, as were their actual weapons, so as to simulate their inability to detect and lock onto Minbari vessels. The opposing force was made up of modified high performance stunt craft, which were able to closely emulate the observed performance of Minbari fighters. However, those modifications were unable to replicate Minbari stealth or weapons systems, so the scenario had to be manually adjusted to take those into account.

"Mitchell, Jankowski," came the order, " pull ahead and investigate." Jankowski took the lead as he and his wingman darted forward to attempt to visually identify the anomaly. The Hyperion would notify them by radio if their "sensors" picked up anything additional, but Jankowski wasn't holding his breath. He was, therefore, surprised when the radio crackled and informed him of a sensor contact of a flight of Minbari fighters, 50 kilometers to his 6 o'clock.

"That's directly between us and the squadron," he advised Mitchell, then switched to the full squadron channel. "Alpha Leader, this is Alpha 2. You are about to have company, coming in dead ahead. We're returning to you, maximum burn."

"Acknowledged, Alpha 2," came Sinclair's response, just seconds before the squadron went head-to-head with the "Minbari" flight, and a major furball erupted.

Jankowski switched back to the frequency he shared with his wingman. "Mitchell, stay on my wing. We're going in hot. The enemy has made a tactical mistake, leaving us to their rear. We'll come up on their 6 and punch through at max thrust. They shouldn't be able to respond to us at that speed, and we should get in a free weapons pass. Go in firing everything you've got."

"You sure about that, Lieutenant? With that heading we'll also be flying right down the guns of our own ships. Pretty good chance of blue-on-blue casualties, for them and for us."

"The formation will break under the Minbari assault. It always does, given their speed and our inability to lock onto them. The squadron will be pushed out of formation, which will lessen that problem. Besides, this might be our first chance to get a decent kill ratio. We need to take it, in practice or the real thing."

"Aye, sir," Mitchell confirmed resignedly. He declined to share his opinion of Jankowski's reasoning, or of Jankowski himself. No point in antagonizing a superior officer; or rather, he mused, a higher ranking one.

The power of the enemy attack was pushing the squadron away from them, but at maximum thrust they closed the distance rapidly. The rate of closure rapidly approached and then exceeded a kilometer per second, and the moment they gained visual contact with the furball Jankowski and Mitchell both opened fire with their Pulse cannons. The stream of Pulser fire, despite being set to training level power output, was still quite visible, and they attempted to drag it into the enemy fighters. In the barely three seconds between spotting and bursting through the enemy formation, Jankowski realized several things. First, upon seeing the bulk of the squadron spread outward, their formation broken, and the tails of the enemy driving them apart, Jankowski realized that he had been entirely correct, and had set up a perfect attack run. A second after that he saw and visually locked onto a specific enemy fighter, and realized that his stream of Pulse cannon bursts would be on target for at least a couple of seconds, which should be sufficient to deal with the "Minbari" armor and get him a kill. It was in the final second that he realized something was wrong, and saw Alpha Leader and three other Starfuries punching a counter attack directly through the center of the enemy formation….and therefore heading directly at Jankowski and Mitchell. He heard himself start to scream, "BREAK LEFT!" and yank the flight stick over, but at those closure speeds it was far too late.

Jankowski in Alpha 2 clipped Sinclair in Alpha Leader. Fortunately, it was not a direct hit, which saved both of their lives. The tip of Sinclair's ventral starboard wing sheared through Jankowski's dorsal port wing, mere centimeters from the wing mount. Jankowski's craft jerked violently and went into a spin, warning lights and alarms screaming for his attention. The wing was gone, but Starfuries were built to last, and it stayed together. Losing the wing so close the cockpit was bad, but it also meant that much of the force acted upon the craft in a somewhat balanced way, ensuring the ensuing spin was not too serious, and Jankowski was quickly able to regain control and kill the spin, and then the engines, despite the now unbalanced thrust due to the missing engine.

Sinclair wasn't nearly so lucky. It had been the very tip of his wing, the engine itself, which had punched into Jankowski's Starfury. And the entire length of that wing had acted as a giant lever, tossing the craft into a violent spinning tumble. Even Sinclair, near the center of that tumble, was experiencing over 20 Gs, having hit nearly 40 during the impact itself, and blacked out almost immediately. The wings and engines further out experienced far higher G loading because of the crash and tumble. Starfuries were built to last, but even they weren't built to take those kinds of loads. Bits and pieces began to break off of the craft, and then entire wings and engines went spinning off into space. A failsafe was tripped, and the central pod ejected before the entire remaining craft broke up. Automatic Reaction Control Systems on the pod kicked into life, and the tumble eventually stopped. Jankowski heard the order go out to launch the rescue shuttles. He cursed himself. _Good God. I've thrown away my career twice in as many years.  
_  
Still he was an officer, and now he was the commanding officer of the squadron, with Sinclair incapacitated. He needed to do his duty. He needed to bring order out of the chaos the squad had fallen into. "Squadron, return to base. Mitchell, form up on my wing. Sanders, park yourself next to Sinclair's pod until the rescue shuttle shows up. Then the two of you head back to base and await further orders. Understood?"

He heard the confirmations he needed, and though he knew without a doubt that those pilots were cursing him silently, that was all he really needed. Now it was time for him to sit tight and wait to face the music…again.  
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Jankowski sat and stared at the gunmetal grey bulkhead in front of him. There really wasn't anything else to do. He had been ordered into the room to sit and wait which, he mused, was almost exactly the orders he had given to the squadron. Of course, _they_ weren't facing court martial...again. He had taken the opportunity to fill out and submit his After Action and Incident reports. But, that was completed hours ago, and since then he had simply nothing to do. Not that he was bored. He was too busy wallowing for that. He also needed to go to the head, but he'd be damned if he opened that door before someone came for him.

And, eventually, someone did. Jankowski was shocked to see General Lefcourt himself walk into the room, carrying a small case. Bolting to his feet, he snapped off his best salute. Lefcourt walked behind Jankowski and picked up the chair in which he had been sitting, the only one in the room, then returned and set the chair down a few feet in front of the Lieutenant. Only then did he return Jankowski's salute, allowing him to drop into a position of attention.

Lefcourt sat, and set the case on the floor next to him, then stared at Jankowski darkly for several seconds, leaned forward and growled, "You just can't stop fraggin' the pooch, can you Jankowski? That was a hell of an attack maneuver you just pulled. Tracking confirms that you achieved three solid kills from your fly-through, which is a new record. Of course, you also managed to destroy 2 of your own Starfuries and put your Squadron Commander in the hospital, which is also a new record! That was an incredibly skillful thing you just did out there. What you should have done was ensure the safety of your craft and your squadron mates. We can't afford the loss of those craft! You don't own that Starfury, Earthforce does! Your ego is running credit your body ain't good for. It was your idiot actions that got this war started in the first place, and you've already been drummed out of the service once." The reminder caused Jankowski to glance sideways with remembered anguish, causing the General to snap, "Pay attention, asshole! You're lucky to be here!"

"Thank you, sir!" Jankowski blurted, snapping to ramrod straight attention.

"In case you haven't figured it out, your name ain't the best in the fleet. You need to be doing it better and cleaner than the next guy. Now, what is it with you?"

"Just want to serve my species. Be the best pilot in the Fleet."

"Don't screw around with me, Jankowski. You're a hell of an experienced and talented pilot. Maybe too good. I'd like to bust you, but I can't. I got another problem here. We've got the Minbari bearing down on us, and I've got a now understaffed and uncommanded squadron. I've got to put somebody in command. I've got to do something here, I still can't believe it. I've got to give you your dream shot. You get to assume command. You were number two, Sinclair was number one. You put Sinclair in the hospital with more broken bones than I can count on both hands. You're number one. But you remember one thing," he said drawing a breath. "You screw up just this much," he continued, holding his thumb and forefinger barely a millimeter apart, "and I'll have your own men frag you. And they'll be happy to do it, you piece of dog shit."

"Yes, sir!"

"One more thing, Jankowski," Lefcourt said grimly, "The other squadron commanders from your wing have elected to assign you a new call-sign." He bent over and picked up the case, unzipping it to reveal Jankowski's own helmet, upon which his new call-sign had been emblazoned in large letters...BONEHEAD. He tossed the helmet to Jankowski. "Out of respect for the man you just hospitalized, you will use this call-sign rather than Alpha Leader in all communications. At least until after the Minbari have been beaten back. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant Bonehead?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"That is all."

Bonehead did an about face and began to walk out, when Lefcourt called softly, "Jankowski?"

Bonehead stopped, and looked over his shoulder, "Yes, sir?"

"Good luck, Jankowski."

"Thank you, sir. Sir, if I may ask, what will happen to Lieutenant Commander Sinclair?"

"He's being pulled into Operation Exodus, with me."

"Thank you, sir."


	2. Part 1, Chapter 1 - Prelude

**Part 1 - All Alone in the Night** **  
**Chapter 1 - Prelude

 **Deep Hyperspace, Vorlon Empire - June, 2248  
**  
The Vorlon, known to the lesser species as Ambassador Kosh, approached the upcoming meeting with some trepidation. His personal ship approached the massive Vorlon Dreadnought, sitting motionless in a hyperspace pocket, and he knew that the future of the galaxy might very well depend upon the decisions taken at today's meeting.

He waited silently, patiently as his ship neared and then entered the hidden docking bay. Only when the bay had closed and sealed, and his own ship had been secured, did he allow himself to move. His first action was to exit his encounter suit, and a wave of relief washed through him. Only here, aboard one of his people's most powerful vessels, in a hidden area of hyperspace already within the boundaries of the Vorlon Empire; only here would such a lightening of security be allowed. The time of the next great Shadow War was rapidly approaching, and the Vorlons must keep their secrets. Secrets were power.

His ship generated a portal out into the docking bay. Kosh patted the nearest hull fondly with both limb and mind, and felt the ship respond with matching affection. Then he glided out into the docking bay, his ship sealing itself behind him.

The docking bay was vast, and only partially filled with the fighters and strike craft which surrounded his yacht. A basic security load, rather than a full capacity war load. Perhaps that boded well for the upcoming meeting, he mused to himself, as he made for the nearest corridor. The ship was vast, but almost completely automated, so he passed not a single Vorlon in the bay or in the corridors he wandered, though he did see the occasional individual passing in the distance.

He made directly for the primary consultation chamber, flowing silently down the passageway. The portal opened as he approached, revealing a bright but softly lit room. The walls, floor, and ceiling resembled the coral formations of many worlds, but Kosh had eyes only for the thirteen Vorlons awaiting him. Thirteen of the oldest and most powerful beings in existence. Ancients, even by the standards of his own long lived people. Kosh had the age and influence to have a place on that council, had he so chosen, but he preferred his current role.

He bowed respectfully to the council, and they nodded in return. And then their minds expanded and merged, achieving a level of communication far deeper than the speech, body language, or even telepathy of the younger races. He supposed telepathy might come close, but then it would, being a gift of the Vorlons.

 _The war?_ Their thought entered his mind. Though what lesser species might call the verbal component of the thought was brief, even terse, it came overlaid, packaged with a thousand meanings and connotations...the surprise at a war between the two species who would be most critical to both the last Shadow War and the next; the concern that one of the oldest and most powerful of the younger races might extinguish one of the newest, the fear that the Great Circle they had labored so hard to establish might fail, and the astonishment that despite that Circle they had not seen the war coming.

 _The Minbari advance_ he sent back to them, rolled up with images and feelings of Minbari ships overrunning human fleets and systems across a vast swath of space. Of Minbari vessels advancing untouched into the fury of human resistance, and shattering that resistance with nary a scratch. Of humans dying by the hundreds of thousands, but, after every defeat, every grinding retreat, every hideous slaughter, pulling themselves back together and throwing up yet another resistance, another blockade. And finally, a few minor successes for the humans….a human dreadnought ramming a Sharlin. A minor fleet, a massive Sharlin and a few escorts, caught in a human trap of nuclear mined asteroids. And last of all, a massive fleet gathering in Earth orbit, a final line of resistance to prevent the fall of their species.

 _The Circle?_ That was their real concern. The all important Circle. The loop of time that would win the Great Debate with the Shadows. Indeed, which had already snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, and would continue to do so, time and time again.

 _All seemed fine._ The Circle and fate were not left to their own devices. Time and destiny seemed to have a way of changing and altering with reiteration, any time a circle was created. That was a lesson learned in the temporal wars in the distant past, when more than just two groups of First Ones roamed the galaxy. What seemed to be a set and stable pattern could change drastically with just the most minor of variations, as the universe processed through the infinite options and choices that came with each instant of time. Because of this, Kosh and a number of other Vorlons were tasked with watching the progression of history, to ensure that the Circle continued to circle. The Earth Minbari war was something which had not been anticipated, and had momentarily thrown the reclusive Vorlons into a panic. They had considered the unthinkable...direct intervention in the war. However, despite the unexpected war, a battery of tests, run on the most advanced temporal sensors the Vorlons could, all indicated the same thing….the Circle was on track. The war was apparently supposed to happen, an unexpected but integral part of the Circle. And therefore to be watched, but not interfered with. At least, until recently. And the eldest of these Vorlon inquisitors immediately picked up on his qualification.

 _Seemed?_ The interrogative, stripped of all subtext save the demand for information, grabbed the immediate attention of every other Vorlon. The threat of potential intervention again loomed.

 _There has been an anomaly_ Kosh advised them. _Near Earth. Specifics unknown._ His sending included shock and dismay as those same temporal sensors unexpectedly veered wildly, swinging back and forth between the known and unknown, between the road to victory, and path to destruction.

 _Intervention?_ There is was. The question Kosh dreaded, but knew was coming. In order to save the circle his people would do anything. Destroy the Minbari fleet heading for Earth, if that was called for. Or invade Earth themselves and tear it apart, searching for the anomaly. They already planned to take action against a fleet of Drazi upstarts who were planning to interfere in the Earth Minbari war. The Vree were also being watched for potential action, but right now it appeared they would not get to Earth until well after the Minbari. He feared almost as much for those children they called the Young Races as he did for his own people.

 _Perhaps. Perhaps not. Possibility._ Kosh sent the message laced with hope. With a hint of what the temporal sensors had shown him.

 _Explain._ The sending was brief but laden with meaning. Curiosity. Concern. Suspicion. Ambition.

 _Increased stability. Further future. Victory?_ Kosh's sending included everything he had been able to glean from the sensors. The Circle was stable, but not perfect, which was why they had the sensors in the first place. But it looked as though there was the possibility that this unexpected change might actually make things more stable, harder for the Shadows or random chance to subvert. They had also shown him Vorlon life signs further into the future than they had ever detected. There was a cut off date barely more than a decade hence, a line across time, after which they could detect no Vorlon future within the galaxy. The theories for this ranged from final victory over the Shadows to final defeat, but most of their experts believed it was a simple barrier caused by the Circle itself...it's ending point, or more properly it's beginning; the date on which Vallen would travel back in time to fight in the last Shadow war. The exact date was unknown, but corresponded roughly with the time after which no Vorlons signatures could be detected. But now, if Vorlons could be detected farther ahead, even if only a little, it threw that assumption into doubt. The only likely possibility was that the Circle itself was showing them their final victory...all allowed by some random anomaly around Earth. _Patience_ Kosh communicated, encouraging a wait and see approach.

 _Agreed._ And with their final communication, Kosh knew that he was dismissed. But he had the answer he had wanted. He could return to his duties observing and manipulating the younger races. The future looked like it might be very interesting indeed.  
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 **Mars - August, 2248  
**  
Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Sinclair exited the hospital for the last time. Months of rehabilitation had left him in less than stellar condition. But then, breaking both arms and both legs, along with a half dozen ribs, will do that to you. Frankly, he knew he should feel lucky that he hadn't snapped his spine. But you tended not to feel lucky when you lost your command to the man who put you in the hospital. And now, rather than defending Earth, he'd gotten stuck as part of the official retreat. He swore to himself that if he ever saw Jankowski again, he'd spend a good long time kicking the man's ass.

His legs wobbled a bit, forcing him to lean on the cane in his right hand, but then firmed. He looked around as he walked out onto the street. He had received a message that an Earth Force officer would be picking him up. It was time to resume duty, and despite his distaste for his current assignment, orders were orders. He glanced up and down the street, but saw no one but a drunk sleeping it off on a nearby bench, a large Fedora covering his face and the reek of alcohol distinct even from a few meters away.

Sinclair's eyes widened when he realized that the slovenly, and somewhat emaciated, mess of a drunk was wearing what appeared to be the remnants of a GroPos uniform. The insignia of a sergeant peaked out from under a blot of what appeared to be marinara sauce. A loud snore reached Sinclair's ears, and he snapped. His arms and legs twinged as he stormed over to the man, but he paid no attention. Nor did he pay attention to the stab of pain which shot up his arm when he lifted his cane, inserted it through the slats on the back of the bench, placed it in the small of the drunk's back, and with a heave shoved the man off of the bench onto the Mars-crete ground.

The drunk landed with a squawk, and his bloodshot eyes shot open in anger. But then he saw Sinclair's uniform and performed a reasonable approximation of leaping to his feet, and a completely pathetic approximation of a proper salute. "Umm, would you be Jeff Sinclair?"

"Yes, Sergeant, I'm _Lieutenant Commander_ Jeffrey Sinclair. Who the _hell_ are you?" Sinclair asked in his best pissed CO voice.

"Take it easy, Commander," the Sergeant said, slouching and raising his arms in a gesture of surrender rather than maintaining the proper attention stance. "I'm Michael Garibaldi. I've been assigned to you for the time being...driver, pilot, personal assistant, and bodyguard. Come on, you've got a meeting to get to," Garibaldi said, already starting to walk away.

"Lucky me," Sinclair muttered under his breath, and then turned to follow.  
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A short drive and an only slightly longer shuttle flight later, Sinclair and Garibaldi were berthing on the EAS Nova, first ship of it's class. They were met by a Lieutenant JG, who looked to young to shave, much less be in charge of the hanger bay. After greeting them and granting permission for them to come aboard, he handed them off to an even younger looking Ensign, tasked with guiding them through the mammoth ship to their meeting.

The passage down one corridor after another felt even longer than the shuttle flight to Sinclair, and he silently thanked providence that the EA had yet to figure out artificial gravity, as the zero G condition of the ship put minimal strain on his still recovering limbs. Garibaldi had not stopped talking since the moment Sinclair had gotten into the car with him, and now his chatter prevented Sinclair from pumping the Ensign for information about the status of the ship or fleet. He didn't even consider asking Garibaldi. The man would likely take it as another opportunity to launch into an explanation of Cowpoke's Chilli, whatever that was. Sinclair silently counted the moments until he could get rid of the Sergeant for good. Finally, they came to a large bulkhead door that looked much the same as every other one they had passed. But the ensign keyed the door open and then stood off to the side.

Sinclair expected Garibaldi to wait outside with the Ensign, but the man made to follow him in, though at least he had stopped talking. Sighing to himself, Sinclair entered the room and found a rather odd assemblage of people.

Directly in the center stood General Lefcourt. He was deep in conversation with...oh, hell. That was Commander John Sheridan, that unbelievable prick. Sinclair sighed to himself. He only knew Sheridan from his days back in the Academy, but he couldn't imagine all of the hero worship that came with scoring the only victory in the war to date would do anything but inflate the man's opinion of himself. _Still_ , he thought to himself, _pulling that off, against a Sharlin no less, was damned impressive. Maybe I should reserve judgement and give the man the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he's grown. Yeah right. And pigs will fly and Minbari are just misunderstood._

Looking around the room in curiosity, he noticed a short, dour looking man seated off to one side, pointedly ignoring everyone else, looking as though they were beneath him. He was the oldest person in the room, save only General Lefcourt. Despite his age, he carried the same rank as Sinclair, but on his lapel...was that a Psi-Cop badge?!

Standing just beyond the man was a tall, statuesque woman with light brunette hair. Her face was a little long for classical beauty, but she carried a commanding presence which left her both striking and attractive. She also wore the uniform of a Lieutenant Commander.

Next, he saw a pale skinned, dark haired beauty who also matched his rank, leaning against one of the bulkheads. _What's with all of the Lieutenant Commanders?_ He noticed her glaring daggers at Sheridan, and if looks could kill he certainly wouldn't have to worry about that pain in the ass again. He liked her immediately. He was less impressed with the final person in the room. The man...boy, really...was hovering over her with very obvious interest. He was trying to engage her in conversation, and looked positively lecherous. He was wearing...a cadet uniform? Cadet Captain, if he remembered his Academy days correctly, which meant that despite his youthful look he was certainly an upperclassman, and probably the Big Man On Campus, not that it helped him when he wasn't on campus. Which the beauty proved when she momentarily shifted her glare to him and said, "You know you're not an _actual_ Captain, right?" and then went promptly back to ignoring him and glaring at Sheridan. Sinclair almost laughed out loud, and his opinion of her went up another couple of notches. Garibaldi actually did laugh out loud.  
The laugh got General Lefcourt's attention, and noting who had just entered he said, "Good. We're all here. Take your seats, everyone."

Being Earth Force officers, with a minimum of fuss everyone was seated. The General began the briefing. "No doubt some of you are wondering why you are here, or the purpose of this meeting. You are here because you are all being assigned to...in fact, are critical to... Operation Exodus. In case anyone has been asleep for the last few months, Operation Exodus is our answer to what appears to be an unavoidable fact...Earth is going to lose this war. We've won exactly one battle in this war so far, and the ratio of our losses to theirs lies between a hundred to one and a thousand to one, depending on whether you are counting tonnage or hulls. We're throwing just about everything we have at an attempt to hold the line before Earth, but odds are it won't be enough. Earth is going to lose, and if nothing is done, the human race goes extinct."

"Do we know they're bent on genocide sir?" Sheridan interrupted. "Deep recons show that they haven't exterminated the populations of the colonies they've overrun."

"No, we do not. But neither have they made any attempt at all to avoid civilian casualties, or to support those colonies after destroying all of their infrastructure and most of their capacity to support themselves. Chances are high that the Minbari are focusing on destroying our capacity to fight first, before going through the effort of extinguishing us.

"Operation Exodus is our attempt to avoid that fate. Put simply, we're going to run. We're assembling a fleet, have been for about a year, and we are going to leave the Earth Alliance behind and head out into space, looking for a new home, or at least a refuge, for our species.

"Ne expense has been spared, and unless you're totally blind you've noticed the fleet gathering here, and the mass of civilians who have been flowing in. The fleet is separated into two parts; civilian and military. We will be waiting until the last possible moment to flee, both to ensure that the Fall is actually happening, and to allow for as many last minute refugees as possible to make it to us. This is, of course, a risk. This entire endeavor will be fraught with one risk after another. That is why the President has signed off on the orders to make this a military lead effort, over which I have been placed in command. If Earth falls, no doubt some civilians with the fleet will wish to reconstitute the civilian government and control. It is our job to ensure that happens... _after_ we have found a safe haven. Until such time as we have escaped the Minbari and settled somewhere, this fleet will operate under Martial Law and Military Justice. The civies might not like that, but it will be necessary to ensure their survival. Let's take a closer look at the civilian vessels which will be the core of the fleet. Allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Commander Sandra Levitt."

The tall female officer stood and walked to the front of the room. She tapped a panel, and a large vid console on the far wall lit up, displaying the image of an enormous vessel. She turned to face the room and continued the briefing. "I assume you are familiar with the White Star Line?"

"The only name in oceanic and space borne luxury and cruise liners," the dark-haired beauty offered. "They're named after the ancient British company which built some unsinkable ship which, of course, sank. They started by uniting the bulk of the Earth's sailing cruise lines, but they really became a power when they got into space. Today their space fleet is so luxurious and prestigious that nearly as many aliens as humans make use of their liners...at least, before the war anyway."

"Correct. The White Star fleet doesn't offer much for the war effort, but it is perfect for our purposes. On orders of the President, the fleet has been nationalized. The twenty ships of the line are the Titanic, Olympic, Britannic, White Star, Disney Cruise, Royal Carribean, Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, Carnival, Norwegian Cruise, Princess, Oceania, Regent, Italia, Dolphin, Celebration, Star Cruiser, Royal Viking, Renaissance and Atlantis. On average these ships were designed to carry 10,000 passengers in varying levels of comfort and luxury, and most importantly, centrifugal gravity replication. We have heavily reworked their structure and life support systems to increase their carrying capacity twenty fold. The accommodations will be both minimal and spartan, but sufficient from a purely pragmatic standpoint. Of course, we are talking about cramming civilians into that setting, so no doubt they will think they are in the seventh layer of hell. Still, they will be alive, and that is our primary consideration.

"Rounding out what we will consider the critical core of our fleet, are some more utilitarian vessels. Three supertankers; two filled with fuel and one with water. Nearly a dozen Ultra Large freighters and container ships carrying, amongst other things, repair and maintenance parts, food stuffs, trade goods, raw materials, weapons, hyperspace beacons, and colonization supplies. We have 2 asteroid mining ships and 2 gas-giant gas extraction vessels. And of course an assortment of tugs, rescue vessels, and construction and assembly ships. Everything you need to keep the fleet running for months. In addition to this core, if the Minbari allow sufficient time for civilian evacuation, we could see hundreds of smaller vessels joining the fleet. We are likely to see everything from personal yachts to transport shuttles. I understand that our orders are to try to accommodate them all."

"Those vessels won't last long on an interstellar trip," Sheridan noted.

"Which is why we have all of those repair vessels and freighters loaded with spare parts I mentioned earlier. It is also why we have rigged all passenger liners and any of our other civilian ships with rotation capabilities with numerous extra docking points. We are hoping to get those folks docked and into centrifugal spin as often as practical. We don't want our civies dying because of zero-G sickness. Depending on the final size of the fleet, we are hoping to be able to run continuously off of just our stowed supplies and with minimal maintenance for six to twelve months. If necessary we think we can eek out another couple of years utilizing mining, trade, and more in depth maintenance, though that would obviously slow the fleet significantly. Beyond three years, we expect a rapid deterioration of the fleet's capabilities. However, even at the speed of our slowest vessels, three years should put us well outside of the boundaries of known space. Hopefully we will have achieved safety and found a home by then."  
Having finished her presentation, Levitt returned to her seat.

Lefcourt stood and resumed. "Alright folks, as I said, no expense has been spared on the civilian front. The only worry there is that we can't completely load the fleet in advance. We will be expecting Earth Force to hold the line against the Minbari long enough for sufficient civilians to reach us to fill out the fleet. Right now we are only at 30% capacity on board, with another 40% temporarily berthed on Mars.

"The military portion of the fleet, on the other hand, has been far more problematic."

The comment elicited a snort from Garibaldi, so Sinclair asked, "What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean that, while no expense has been spared on the civilian fleet, getting military resources has been far more difficult. Not only does Earth Force want everything it has defending the homeworld, but every officer seems to be willing to do whatever it takes to participate in that battle, doomed though it may be. With the exception of the Eratosthenes, our Explorer class ship, the only military vessels which have been assigned to this fleet have been heavily damage battlefield cripples. We get them in, do everything we can to get them back into fighting trim, and the moment they are, they are pulled out and reassigned to other commands. We have had four Novas and nine Hyperions yanked out from under us. This continues to be the case. We currently have one Nova, and it's primary battery is completely inoperative."

"General," said Sheridan, "the Lexington is currently fully operational."

"And I'm trying to keep that information under wraps, as it's also our only Hyperion. I've modified the official reports to show her plasma cannons as still being offline."

"General?" Sheridan sounded both shocked and disapproving.

"We can't afford to lose her. That information is to stay in this room, on my orders. Understood?" he asked, looking around at each of the officers in the room. He got the confirmations he wanted, and then continued. "Still, I think there's a rather good chance that the top brass knows. I think what's keeping her here has less to do with her current operational status, and more to do with the fact that she is your ship, Sheridan. There have been some concerns about you, ever since the failure of your attempt at negotiating with the Minbari."

Sheridan looked confused. "Why would that be?" he asked.

Sinclair couldn't help himself. He had heard the rumors, and shared them, so he piped up, "Because people think you might have intentionally failed. That maybe you want the war to continue. You're the only officer to win a battle against the Minbari. Maybe you think you can win the war yourself, be humanity's savior."

"Now that's just ridiculous," the beautiful Lieutenant Commander interrupted. "John would never dream of doing something like that."

"And how would you know?" Sinclair asked her with genuine curiosity.

"Because I used to be married to him."

 _Well_ , thought Sinclair to himself, _that would explain the glaring._

"Back to business, people." Leftcourt regained their attention. "In addition to one semi-functional Nova, one fully functional Hyperion, and our Explorer class vessel, we also have one Avenger class Carrier and, as it turns out, one highly modified Orestes class system monitor."

"Highly modified?" asked Sheridan. "Modified how?"

"It's had all of its armaments removed except for its Interceptors, in order to make room and power for additional life support and berthing, as well as a civilian jump-drive."

"Why would someone make such changes?" Sheridan inquired.

"I don't know. You'd have to ask the Psi-Corp. It belongs...belonged to them. Until they donated it to the cause. I have no idea why they would need such a thing, and it wasn't on any public records that I could find. I don't suppose you could shed any light on that mystery, could you Mr. Bester?"

The man smirked at them. "I really couldn't say. I'm just a low level Psi-Cop."

"Wrong," Lefcourt admonished him. "You're a Lieutenant Commander in Earth Force, now. And in Earth Force we do not accessorize our uniforms. That Psi-Cop badge is not to be worn while you are in your current position. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the man said with a sigh.

"Just what is his current position?" asked the officer formerly married to Sheridan.

"It turns out that in addition to the Orestes, the Psi-Corp had an entire squadron of Star-furies operating out of it, all telepaths. Mr. Bester was and is the squadron commander. He will also be the ranking Earth Force officer assigned to the Mother...odd name for a ship...and will generally be in command of it from a military standpoint. However, as I said it is only armed with Interceptors, so the Starfuries are its real offensive capability. It also has a civilian Captain and crew, though I understand that they are all telepaths as well. In any engagement it will be sitting amongst the civilian fleet, providing point defense while the fighters go out to do battle.

"Which brings me to personnel. Just like with ships, getting and retaining qualified personnel has been a major challenge. Everyone who could get a transfer out has. What we are left with are personnel who are mentally or physically damaged, or are undesirable in some way. Half our personnel are walking wounded or suffering from substantial levels of PTSD. Then we've got conscientious objectors and troops so green they don't even know what their jobs are, much less how to do them. Hell, we're taking the entire academy with us, in the hopes it will provide us with some level of backup for the men and women we do have. And on the other end of the scale, we have the Old Salts, who can provide the experience we need, but many of whom are so far out of date it's questionable how relevant their experience is. Most of them are past retirement age. Some of them may or may not be suffering from various levels of senility or dementia. But you didn't hear that from me.

"So, now that you know how truly fragged up our military situation is, it's time I wrapped up this little conference with my final topic...how all of you fit in. You folks...you're going to by my ranking officers." A murmur of surprise rippled around the room. "So I suppose introductions are in order. I've already mentioned Lieutenant Commander Bester and his command over the Black Omega squadron and the monitor Mother. Mr. Alfred Bester, as of this moment you are hereby brevetted to the rank of Commander.

"I also introduced Lieutenant Commander Levitt. Ms. Levitt, as of this moment you are hereby brevetted to the rank of Commander. You are to immediately assume command of the EFNS Eratosthenes."

Commander Levitt's eyes widened. "Sir, I'm not qualified for that position."

"None of you are qualified for what I am about to set on your shoulders. You are required to do it nonetheless. You, Commander, are the only person in this room, myself included, who doesn't fall into the description I gave earlier of being damaged or undesirable in some way. You have been working on this project from the beginning, and I have spent considerable political capital to keep you here. Take the position Commander, you've earned it."

"I'm sure everyone knows Commander John Sheridan. Commander, you are being brevetted to the rank of Captain. You will be Senior Captain for the fleet, and are to immediately assume command of the EFNS Nova."

"Sir," Sheridan objected, "I'm honored, but I'd rather stay with the Lexington."

"Sorry, Captain, but it's not your choice. I need my Senior Captain in charge of my most powerful ship, especially since I won't be there myself."

"You won't be flying your flag on the Nova, sir?"

"No. I'll be on board our carrier, the Midway, safe and sound in the middle of the civie fleet, providing point defense alongside the Mother. You need to understand, John, that if the Nova is actually called upon to carry out her primary role of slugging it out with another capital ship, it will almost certainly be as a sacrifice play to buy the fleet time to escape from the Minbari. I don't like suicide missions, and I like asking officers to take them up even less, but then there's a whole lot I don't like about our current situation. I can't be in a situation where I throw myself into the fire. The fleet needs continuity of command, and you're all too damned green to step into my shoes. I'm sorry if you don't like it. I don't either, but those are your orders.

"Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Lochley. You are hereby brevetted to rank of Commander, to immediately assume command of the cruiser Lexington."

"Take care of my ship, Liz," Sheridan inserted, but Elizabeth ignored him.

"General, I am neither injured nor suffering from trauma. I would assume that makes me undesirable in someway. How exactly? What have I done to be shanghaied into this command?"

"I'm sorry, Commander," Lefcourt stated. "Command is well aware of your brief marriage to Captain Sheridan. I'm afraid it wasn't short enough, and you are suffering from guilt by association. I know you're not happy to be here. All I can say is that I am happy to have you. Your orders stand." Elizabeth resumed her glaring at Sheridan, though now she also included the General. Sinclair didn't blame her at all.

"Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Sinclair. You are hereby brevetted to the rank of Commander. You will report to the Midway to assume the position of CAG for the fleet. Your fleet elements are comprised of four squadrons aboard the Midway, two squadrons aboard the Nova, two squadrons aboard the Eratosthenes, one squadron aboard the Mother, and one flight aboard the Lexington." Jeff felt as if he had been sucker punched. He had gone from commanding one squadron to being in charge of nearly 10. That was a hell of a promotion. He didn't know if he wanted the responsibility, but he sure as hell knew he didn't have any choice.

"Sergeant Michael Garibaldi. You are hereby brevetted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. You are hereby ordered to report to the Midway, to assume the position of head of security for the united fleet, both military and civilian. You are to enforce rule of law...and it shall be martial." Jeff suddenly found himself feeling sorry for Garibaldi. He watched the man turn white and he looked like he might fall over. _He really is way too thin. I wonder if he's been sick, or if he's abusing more than just alcohol?_

"Finally, we have Cadet Captain Matthew Gideon. You are hereby brevetted to the rank of Lieutenant Commander, and ordered to assume command of the Avenger class heavy carrier Midway." Shocked expressions from around the room were now aimed at the young man, but Lefcourt continued speaking. "Note that all brevet promotions will become full commissions the moment this fleet flees the Solar System. Until then, anything and everything is subject to change. Now, we have a hell of a lot of work to do people. And, it would appear that you are all out of uniform. Congratulations. Now get moving. Commander Sinclair, please stick around for a few moments."  
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"I can see you've got concerns, Jeff," Lefcourt stated once the room had cleared. "You are the only person I haven't had much chance to speak with. Tell me what's on your mind. I'm not sure how many more chances we'll have to talk before things start to really get crazy."

"Where do I begin? I know. How about the crazy drunk you saddled me with, the one you want to put in charge of fleet security. Are you mad?"

"I did tell you quite a lot of our personnel were broken. That didn't just apply to you," he said, nodding to Sinclair's cane. "You might try cutting Mr. Garibaldi some slack. He's only been back for a little over a month. Did you notice he looked a bit under fed? His unit was stuck behind the lines on one of the moons of Vega II. No source of resupply, just what they carried in with them. They starved to death until we could finally punch a rescue mission through to them. He was one of the only survivors. And that's after being one of the sole survivors of a direct Minbari ground assault, that wiped out most of his unit. The man's earned the right to be a little off. More importantly, he's been in and around security his whole life, and actually has the background to pull off his position. At the very least, he's far more qualified than anyone else I could scrounge up."

"Well what about that Cadet? You're going to take a cadet straight out of the Academy and hand him the reigns of a starship?"

"Yes, I am. Matthew Gideon is one of the most talented young officers I have ever seen. More importantly, he doesn't actually come without experience. Are you familiar with the Junior Year Service Project?"

"Sure. The top 100 students of the class who are on track to become line officers spend a semester serving on an actual warship. They get to serve in real crew roles. I was preparing for fighter operations myself, so I didn't pay too much attention to it. If memory serves, the ship was some archaic, busted up scrap heap. An Artemis Frigate or and Olympus Corvette, or maybe…"

"Or maybe an Avenger class Heavy Carrier?" Lefcourt interrupted. "You're correct, actually. The Service Vessel used to be an Olympus, but just before the war broke out the Academy acquired the Midway. The idea was to take the Service Project for prospective line officers and Advanced Flight Operations for prospective fighter jocks like yourself, and merge the two into a single project. But, when they pulled the Midway out of mothballs, they discovered it was a complete wreck.

"Gideon and his shipmates spent two full semesters servicing that ship. They had a lot of help, but they basically rebuilt it from the ground up, and then they learned how to operate it, and they still kept up with their lessons the entire time. They learned every nook, cranny, and secret of that ship, and they worked tirelessly. And the most tireless and active of all, naturally, was Cadet Captain Gideon. As head of his class, that was expected, but he performed well in excess of any expectations we may have had for him. He performed as student, engineer, maintenance, and of course Captain. He and his crew are perfectly comfortable with the ship, and with each other."

"Wait," Sinclair held up his hand. "You mean the entire crew will be cadets? And they're not even Seniors?"

"Jeff. Everything I just told you, and those are the two things you picked up on? They are capable of doing the job, and besides that, they are the only crew available. Also, technically they just became Seniors."

"Couldn't you have put their instructors in charge?"

"You remember what I said about everyone heading to Earth who could swing it? That's pretty much the case here. Those instructors who were deemed valuable to the fight were pulled. Those that remain are….rather well seasoned."

"Well seasoned?"

"We tried carbon dating them, but it turned out when they were born carbon hadn't been invented yet."

"I see, sir."

"Any other concerns, Jeff?"

"I don't suppose I can ask about the Psi-cop?"

Lefcourt frowned at him. "Do you mean Commander Bester, Earth Force Officer and not-at-all-a Psi-Cop?"

"Yes sir, that's him."

With a sigh, Lefcourt shrugged. "I share your concerns. But, frankly, we're lucky he's the highest ranking member of Psi-Corp we have to deal with. The real power structure will be staying behind on Earth."

"I'm surprised they didn't fight that."

"They did. The President and her allies in Earth Gov exerted all of the influence they could to ensure it stayed that way. They didn't want the last remnants to the human race dealing with an internal race war, which seems to be the way society has been headed with regards to Teeps. Even then, in the end we had to cut a deal."

"What kind of a deal?" Sinclair asked nervously.

"You know the average telepath to normal ratio?"

"Isn't it one tenth of one percent? Roughly one in every one thousand people tests positive for telepathy. Telekinesis is far more rare."

"Correct. Well, the approximate telepath population of the fleet will be roughly ten percent. We'll be taking a substantial portion of the overall telepath population."

"Jesus Christ! _Why?!_ That's eugenics! How the _hell_ do you justify that?!"

"You're damned right it is!" Lefcourt shouted, showing some fire for the first time. "And it's justified the same way all of this is justified. Survival. We needed to break the Psi-Corps stranglehold over telepaths. Elements within Earth Gov have been concerned for a while now over the direction relations with telepaths have been going. Psi-Corp has become more and more insular, and there have been rumors about it instigating an anti-mundane culture amongst it's people, and possibly even a level of militarization. Those rumors are clearly true, since they had a Goddamned Monitor and Starfury squadron just hiding out in hyperspace.

"Besides, we were going to do it anyway, though the Corp didn't know that. It's still unconfirmed, but initial investigations appear to show that human telepaths are on average more powerful than the telepaths of other species. It may be one of the few advantages we have, and if the human race gets cut down to a few million people, we will need every advantage we can get.

"The people selected for this fleet were highly scrutinized. A high percentage of telepaths is just the beginning. Obviously we have colonization experts, troops, and a high percentage of medical practitioners. But it goes beyond that. For instance, we're bringing practically the entire exploratory, research and engineering branches of IPX. We've got the entire digital download of the Library of Earth, which necessitated a large number of librarians. We have scientists and engineers out the wazoo. But despite all of these requirements, less than twenty percent of the fleet population will be in excess of thirty years old. Less than five percent will be in excess of forty. That includes the telepaths, by the way. I guess in that way my command team will be reflective of the fleet overall."

Sinclair was stunned. "My God, why? That's ageism!"

"And probably a whole bunch of other 'isms as well. But if we are to survive we need to bounce back as quickly as possible. That means that as many of the survivors as possible need to be reproductive, with a good solid lifespan ahead of them. Our intelligence services have been discretely checking fertility via a number of means, so feel free to add invasion of privacy to the list of crimes this government is committing for this venture. Oh, and heterosexuality is also a strong determinant for procreation, so toss discrimination of sexual orientation onto the pile for which I will be burned in Hell and History.

"We're all in, Jeff. This is about avoiding extinction. I'll toss my sacred honor onto the midden heap, right along with my life and fortune, if that's what it takes to survive. And I damned well expect you to do the same. You got me?"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"Good. Because you're really not going to like what comes next. Because you're REALLY not going to like what comes next. Get with Garibaldi. Start getting your crews and troops down onto Mars. When the Minbari come, things are going to get ugly fast. Here are your orders…"  
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 **Hyperspace, Nearing Earth Alliance Territory- August, 2248**  
"General Trkarda, the storm grows worse. I have never seen anything like it."

"Hyperspace is a fickle landscape, Makar. You should know that. Gravitational inclines, spatial knots, wild currents; these are not unknown problems."

"Yes, but General, this is worse than anything on record. It is like the winter storms on Zhabar's Western Sea. The fleet is having a hard time staying in formation."

"I do not plan on conducting any parade reviews. If the formation is a little lax, we will survive."

"Survival is exactly the concern, sir!. With the amount we are being knocked about, we are in danger of losing the beacon. We cannot afford to lose a thousand ship, General! The Chief Engineer urges that we cut speed in half and divert energy to station keeping and sensors."

"We are in a bit of a hurry, Makar. You do realize that?"

"We won't be any good to the humans if we never arrive. For that matter, I don't see how we will be any good to them, even if we do."

"Is that what this is about? Speak your mind. There will be no repercussion."

"The Makar looked worried, but did not back down. "No sir. This is about protecting the Drazi and vessels under our command. I would never question your orders, General. But, since you asked, no, I do not understand the reasoning behind our current mission. We are talking about the Minbari! We cannot _hope_ to defeat them. The humans are at least as mighty as the Drazi, and in two years, they have only one victory. And that was by trap, not by skill or might of arms. I suppose it does not matter if we lose the beacon. If we do not smash ourselves against the storm, we will only smash ourselves against the Minbari!"

The General was silent for a moment, and the Makar began to worry that he had overstepped. But then the General said quietly, "Tell me Makar, did you see combat against the Dilgar?"

A little surprised, he responded, "No, sir. I began training about a year after the war ended."

"Then perhaps it is to be expected that you do not remember. The fear. The despair of those times. The Dilgar were _our_ Minbari. They were implacable. Lost battle after lost battle. Retreat after retreat. And always the constant, unending death. They slaughtered us. On the battlefield and off. Even our few victories were so steeped in blood that they hardly seemed worth the effort. Civilians were no safer than our warriors. _We_ at least could fight back. They could only run and hide and die." He paused for a long time, staring blankly ahead, lost in some tragic memory. The Makar thought for a moment that he might have been forgotten about, but then Trkarda took a deep breath, and resumed briskly. "And then the humans came. We hoped, we prayed they would. Or the Minbari. Or even the accursed Centauri. We would have taken any savior, but it was the humans who actually came. No one expected them to. No one expected them to do well. They were too young, too new, too untested. The Dilgar barely knew they existed. Until, that is, they began to pound the Dilgar forces like the finest Mutai champion... And after that everything changed. The humans showed fearlessness, and made us fearless. The humans showed aggressiveness, and restored our aggression. The humans displayed cooperation and coordination, and for the first time, the Drazi and the other members of the League were able to properly cooperate and coordinate our forces, together. The humans lead and we followed, and the Dilgar fell back before us. We had been saved.

"The civilians were never really told how truly desperate things had become, so I don't fault you for not knowing; for not understanding. The Drazi _owe_ the humans. I thought it was a debt that could never be repaid. Perhaps, now, it can."

"We can't beat the Minbari, General," he quietly stated, his tone subdued.

The general actually smiled. "Beat them? It's never been our goal to beat them. I doubt we'll even survive the fight. It will be glorious, though. No, our goal is to repay the humans by getting the Minbari to _think_. We want them to ask themselves why another race would risk Minbari wrath, risk extinction itself, to aid a race they see as degenerate. Of all the League races who owe so much to the humans, none have yet had the courage to stand up to the Minbari and tell them that they are _wrong_. That the humans are NOT butchers and barbarians. Not even the Drazi, to our shame. Well, we are changing that. We will reclaim our honor by standing between the humans and the Minbari. Perhaps our attack will cause the Minbari to turn around immediately. Perhaps it will require our destruction. Or perhaps it won't work at all. But _honor_ demands that we do something, not just turn a blind eye and pretend nothing is wrong."

"And what if they decree the destruction of the Drazi, as they have done to the humans?"

"Then we will activate the mutual defense provisions of the League."

"They won't help the humans, why would they help us?"

"Because we are actually part of the League, while the humans are not. And because the Dilgar showed us what happens when we stand by while one of our number is attacked. Perhaps you are correct. Many of them may not heed the call, in their fear of the Minbari. I have confidence that the Abbai will stand with us. There are rumors that the Vree may be sending a fleet of their own, so they would likely stand with us as well. I'm not sure about the Yolu, but I don't think even the Minbari scare them. And if even a few other League worlds stand with us, it will be that much harder for the rest to try to stay neutral, that much harder for the Minbari not to question their own actions, and not to mention that much harder for them to actually exterminate us."

"We are gambling with the future of our race."

"Yes, we are," and without so much as a pause, he ordered, "have the fleet assume Phalanx Cube formation."

The Makar blinked at the sudden shift in the conversation, but did not hesitate to implement the order. Only a few minutes later, when Communications confirmed that the fleet had achieved the new formation, did he return to General Trkarda. "The fleet is in formation sir. Were you expecting an attack? Hyperspace combat is never a good idea. I wouldn't want to even think about trying to fight in a storm like this one."

"I don't plan to." Seeing the Makar's look of curiosity, he continued, "With a thousand ships, a Phalanx Cube formation puts a hundred ships in the first wall. If we had remained in Line formation, how many ships could lock onto the beacon at once?"

"The first three or four ranks, maybe a dozen ships. After that, the beacon is blocked by the ships ahead," the Makar stated with dawning understanding. "But in our current formation, with a fleet this size, several hundred ships will be able to lock onto the beacon at the same time."

"What do you suppose the odds are of all of those ships losing sight of the beacons at the same time, even at this speed, in this storm?"

"Not likely at all," the Makar said with a smile. A few moments later, that smile faded as Sensors brought something to his attention. "General, we are detecting three, and perhaps four ships pacing our movement. I believe the adjustment to our formation, both the increase in perimeter sensors and the increased diameter, has allowed our sensors to detect them. We don't have a firm identification, but whoever they are, their ships are quite large and riding well outside of the area where a solid beacon lock is possible."

The General grunted. "Minbari, then. How in the name of Thrazda did they know we were coming?" he asked rhetorically. "Position?"

"They have us boxed in. One each on our dorsal, ventral, and port sides. Additional potential contact to starboard which is...firming up now. Confirmed. Contact to starboard….one moment...additional potential contacts...one fore and one aft. Something has changed...all six contacts have started closing the distance. Still no firm identification."

"Bring the fleet to battle stations. Maximum output on active sensors. Get me an identification." He turned to the Communications Officer. "Send a general broadcast. Advise whoever this is that we do not wish a confrontation, but that if they interfere with us we will destroy them. Remind them that we have them outnumbered one thousand to six."

As the message went out the Sensors Officer called for the Makar's attention, and the General listened in. "Sir, the storm has begun to intensify, rather dramatically. The fleet is being tossed about, and I'm not sure how we'll maintain formation."

"Fleet formation is not your concern, Sensors," the Makar chastised him.

"There is more, Makar," the Drazi persisted. "Each of the six vessels is emitting some sort of generalized energy randomly into the surrounding environment. I've never seen anything like it. It's almost like an energy fountain. I think...I think maybe these ships are causing the storm."

"That's impossible."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir." A second later a chirp sounded from his station. "We have a positive identification on the dorsal ship," he said, the sound of awe and fear clear in his voice.

The General broke into the conversation from where he sat a few feet away. "Well? What class of Minbari ship is it? Is it a Sharlin?"

"It's not a Minbari ship at all, General." The officer spoke quietly, turning to look at him. "The ship is….it's Vorlon, sir."

Trkarda reared back, as though he had been struck. "Vorlons? Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir. They continue to close the distance. All six ships now confirmed to be Vorlon. They...sir, they are in range of our weapons." An alarm began to sound from his station. "General. The Vorlons are definitely responsible for the creation of this storm. Those energy fountains just increased dramatically. Turbulence increasing…..there's….there's some sort of giant hyperspace wave forming! I've never seen anything like it!" The ship began to vibrate and shake, the structural members groaning under a heavy strain. The General heard the engines spooling up, whining as they fought to stabilize the ship.

The Makar turned to Trkarda. "General. Permission to open fire?"

"Against the Vorlons?! Are you mad?!"

"Hyperspace wave moving towards the fleet!" Sensors shouted. The ship began to buck violently.

"Orders, General?" the Makar asked urgently.

The General was dumbstruck. He thought frantically, trying to come up with a plan of action that didn't lead to war with the Vorlon Empire. He was willing to _risk_ genocide for his people in taking on the Minbari. He wasn't prepared to guarantee it in taking on the Vorlons.

"Hyperspace wave has overtaken outermost fleet element!" Sensors called out. "No reading at all from ships past the wave front! It's like they're not even there!" The ship heaved, already being tossed about by the maelstrom.

"General!" the Makar shouted, bracing against the violent motion of the ship. "Permission to fire?"

"Contact with hyperspace wave in four seconds!" Sensors shouted, as the Makar again requested permission to fire. "Two…One..."

"No," Trkarda said quietly, though whether he was answering the Makar, or just protesting the unfairness of the universe, was impossible to tell.

And then the world was washed away in the reddish hues of hyperspace.


	3. Chapter 2 - Crossing the Line

Chapter 2 - Crossing the Line

 **Mars - September, 2248**

General Lefcourt was meeting with his command staff via video conference. The last month had been hectic, exhausting really, but things were actually starting to come together. He allowed himself to feel a little bit hopeful. Perhaps this Hail Mary might actually work.

On the screen, Gideon lifted his head and said, "Sir, we are getting a priority transmission from Earth. It's…a general audio broadcast, addressed to all ears, military and civilian. Should I…?"

"No. Patch it through to us only."

"Aye, sir….coming through now…"

A disembodied but recognizable voice floated out of the speakers. "Are we on? This is...this is the president. I've just been informed that our mid-range military bases at Beta Durani and Proxima III...have fallen to the Minbari advance. We've lost contact with Io and must conclude that they too have fallen to an advanced force. Our military intelligence believes that the Minbari intend to bypass Mars and hit Earth directly, and the attack may come at any time.

"We have continued to broadcast our surrender, and a plea for mercy...and they have not responded. We therefore can only conclude...that we stand at the twilight of the human race. In order to buy more time for our evacuation transports to leave Earth, we ask for the support of every ship capable of fighting, to take part in a last defense of our homeworld. We will not lie to you. We do not believe that survival is a possibility. We believe that anyone who joins this battle...will never come home. But for every ten minutes we can delay the military advance, several thousand more civilians may have a chance to escape to neutral territory. Though Earth may fall, the human race must have a chance to continue elsewhere. No greater sacrifice has ever been asked of a people, but I ask you now, to step forward one last time...one last battle, to hold the line against the night. May God...go with you all."

The transmission ended, and Lochley leapt to her feat. "We need to go!"

"Belay that, Commander!" Lefcourt snapped. "You know we can't!"

"Sir, the President just asked for all ships capable of fighting to join the line! We have four Capital level ships! We should be there!"

"To hold the line so that more civilians can escape! Where do you think those civilians are going? Who do you think will be tasked with protecting them? You know the answers to those questions, Commander. You may not like them, but you know your orders. It's time for Operation Pied Piper. Begin immediately."

The faces of the command staff blanched at these orders. None of them were happy. Garibaldi looked positively ill, but Lefcourt supposed that may have been the detox. The man had stopped drinking three weeks ago, and willpower alone had kept him working throughout the emergency preparations. One by one they signed off and went about their tasks.

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"Operation Pied Piper is a go," Garibaldi told the crowd. Sinclair and Garibaldi were addressing a group of officers and selected noncoms, both Fleet and GroPos, who had been assigned directly under them.

"Well then, I think it's time you told us exactly what the hell that is! We've been prepping for it for nearly a month, with no idea what exactly it is that we're supposed to do!" Zack Allan was a GroPos Sergeant, and one of Michael's oldest friends. He had been the one to speak, but general mutterings of agreement made it clear that he spoke for the group.

"It's simple, really Zack. This fleet can pack in over four million people, but we couldn't find that many people who both fit the criteria and were willing and able to leave their lives behind to come and sit on Mars for God only knew how long. Aside from that, packing the fleet to the brim would have meant a lot of wear and tear on the systems and people involved that we couldn't afford. But neither are we going to be taking off with open seats. The official plan is to intake the final flood of refugees that is taking off from Earth even as we speak. But, by necessity, they will be coming on interplanetary capable ships. Ships that can just come with the fleet anyway, increasing our overall carrying capacity."

Sinclair began passing out envelopes to the assembled officers, and Garibaldi continued as the officers began to open the envelopes. "Thus, Operation Pied Piper. We are going to fill the remainder of our space with as much of the populace of Mars as we can cram in."

Sergeant Allen, who had yet to receive an envelope, interjected, "Why the hell would you keep this a secret?! There is absolutely no way that we have time to go looking for and selecting volunteers before the Minbari get here!"

"Then it's a good thing we aren't asking for volunteers, Zackie 'ol boy. These envelopes contain your targets and instructions. Schools mostly. We want the kiddies. But also hospitals, engineering and technology companies, that sort of thing. We don't have the room to take everyone. We have to take the folks with traits that will benefit the survival of the species. You are to take your assigned forces and transports and go collect them."

"Jesus Christ!" an officer in the back shouted. A large dark skinned man with an Australian accent, he was obviously furious. "You're sending me to a fraggin' PRE-SCHOOL?! Frag you, I ain't kidnapping fraggin toddlers!"

"You aren't kidnapping anyone, Johnson," Sinclair barked. "Stow that garbage! You are saving their lives! Chances are high that anyone who is left behind will be killed by the Minbari within a few days at the most. So you can swallow your bile and save those kids, or you can leave them to die, only the choice is NOT yours. You are an Earth Force officer, and you will, by God, follow your orders, or I will figure out a way to have you keel hauled, without a pressure suit."

Johnson was mollified, but continued to argue, "The parents and teachers are going to fight this. What the hell do I tell them?"

Garibaldi took over speaking to the officer. "If you had bothered to read your orders, you would have seen that you are also to take the children's teachers and care takers. Somebody needs to care for them on the trip, and it ain't gonna be you, Johnson. You'd give those poor kiddies nightmares. You simply tell anyone who asks or argues that martial law has been declared and you are taking them to safety. Don't go into detail, they don't need to know. Any parents show up, you bring them too. Use force if you have to, but try to keep that to a minimum. We don't need a general riot on our hands, we've got enough to deal with. Look, you've got it easy. Kids that age, they listen to authority, and that's you. Who I really feel sorry for are the poor saps who have to empty out Mars U. Half the student and professors on that campus are anti-establishment and pro-independence."

"Looks like that would be me sir," Ensign Laurel Takashima called out. "Any advice?"

"Be friendly. Play up that you are there to help them. That they are important and must survive. That ought to play to their egos; especially the professors, and once _they_ go with you the students are likely to follow. You'll need more than one trip for an institution that size. Take the amenable students and staff first. No force. After you've taken everyone who is willing to go, come back and gas the rest into unconsciousness. Then pack 'em up and haul them on board. Remember that we are on a timeline. The Minbari will almost certainly hit Earth first, but after that we have no idea how much time we'll have. Keep it fast and stay safe."

"Sir," another female officer, a Lieutenant with fiery red hair and a strong Mars accent, called out. "You are sending me to a hospital. You want me to take the medical staff but not the patients? This says to take the staff by force if necessary. It _will_ be necessary! Those doctors and nurses aren't going to agree to leave their patients behind!"

"We don't have the resources to support the infirm and dying. The medical staff can make a huge contribution towards our continued survival. You can't say the same about their patients."

"What gives you the right to make that choice? This is an illegal order! You don't have the right to choose for people whether they go or stay!"

Sinclair broke in, "This is about saving lives. We can't save them all. Maybe, in the end, we won't be able to save any, but we have to try, and we have to maximize our odds. Those are our orders, like it or not!"

"Mars has declared neutrality. These people may be perfectly safe here!"

"And what if they aren't? Nothing the Minbari have done so far would lead us to believe they will spare Mars!"

"And what if they do? What if you kidnap all of these people, cram them onto your ships, and the Minbari wipe out this fleet like they have every other? You'd be condemning them to death, when Mars might be their chance at survival. For that matter, what gives you the right to determine for them where they will die? From my viewpoint, Martian neutrality is at least as likely to work as this harebrained evacuation!"

Sinclair walked up and stood right in front of her. "Lieutenant Martinson. You have your orders."

"Sir, it is my duty to inform you that in good conscience I must refuse to…"

Her words were cut off as Garibaldi clubbed her over the back of her head with the butt of his PPG. "Corporal Lawson. Place Lieutenant Martinson in restraints and get her to her ship." Picking her folder off of the floor, he held them out. "Good news, Johnson! You just pulled double duty."

"You all have your orders!" Sinclair cut in. "And we are running out of time. MOVE!"  
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 **Lunar Orbit - September, 2248**

A voice crackled over Jankowski's radio. "Alpha 7 to Base. I'm picking up energy emissions on the horizon."

The Watch Officer at Base replied, "Alpha 7, scout ahead, see what's out there."

"Affirmative. Any bogey's on screen?"

"Negative, Alpha 7. All other squadrons maintain radio silence until Alpha 7 checks this out."

A few moments later, Alpha 7 commed again. "Closing in on trace emissions. So far nothing. It might be just an echo or….ooohhhh hell! We got a scouting party. Repeat! We've got a scouting party! Hostiles on approach! Locking on! Alpha 7 to Bonehead, I'm hit!"

Jankowski keyed his radio, "Pull out...pull out! Alpha 7!"

Mitchell's voice interrupted his broadcast. "He's gone. Picking up enemy transmissions."

"Stay in formation," Jankowski replied. "Hold the line! No one gets through, no matter what!"

"Understood. Bonehead, you have a Minbari on your tail." Upon hearing those words, Jankowski began to jink and weave wildly, and not a moment too soon, as the Minbari's green energy beams streaked past his canopy. However, Mitchell's next words made his blood run cold. "I'm on him. Targeting fighter."

"No! Mitchell. Stay in formation. It might be a…." He cut off as countless hyperspace vortices burst open disgorging Minbari cruisers and fighters in their hundreds and thousands. "Oh my God!" Frantic, chaotic chatter erupted over the comms, as the entire fleet was engulfed in combat. He heard cries from those frantically trying to evade an enemy weapons lock, the screams of the dying, and even one clear voice stating that the enemy was everywhere. Jankowski could only agree, but he had a job to do. "It's a trap. Mitchell!"

"I've got a clear shot. I can take him. I can take him!"

"Mitchell!"

"I'm hit! Ejecting!" But Mitchell never got the chance as a Minbari beam sliced his Starfury cleanly in two. Most of the man's helmet floated almost serenely past Jankowski's cockpit. He could not quite bring himself to examine too closely if there was anything left of Mitchell inside it. He heard cries from more of his pilots, engaged in combat or dying. He had no more time to think about Mitchell. He had to lead the squadron, and try to get them all through this fight. The furball was the most vicious thing he had ever experienced. One by one, despite everything he could do, his squadron mates began to die.  
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On board the nearby Command Cruiser, the Grey Council's own Sharlin, Delenn experienced several emotions; awe, fear, but most of all despair. It was all her fault. She had only just been raised to the Grey when her mentor Dukhat had been killed. And in her pain and inexperience, she had condemned the guilty species to extermination. Since then she had many second thoughts, and had searched for ways to end the killing. But the one hope they had for a cease fire had failed, and had taken another old friend to his death.

And now she stood within the Council Chamber, watching the holographic representation of the battle, likely the final stand of humanity, playing out all around her. And she knew that it was her own failings that had brought them all to this place. She spoke to the other members of the Grey. "They fight bravely. They cannot harm our ships. But they continue to try."

It was Coplann of the Warrior Caste who responded to her. "Whether they fight or not, they know they will die anyway. So really, is this bravery, or simple desperation?"

Delenn swallowed her reply, and returned to viewing the battle. But a few moments later she turned back to Coplann. "We should bring one of them aboard for questioning. If our next step is to be the final assault upon their world, we must know their defenses."

"Very well, Delenn," he replied. "Choose. But quickly. We are fast running out of candidates."

Delenn turned to study the battle. And then she had the strangest sensation, and a voice spoke clearly in her head. _The truth points to itself._ Her eyes locked onto one particular human fighter. "That one," she said.  
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One by one, Jankowski's squadron mates were killed. He had managed to take out only a single enemy fighter, and thought that it might actually have been the only one taken down by the entire squadron. How many of his pilots were left? And then a stray beam smacked into one of his engines. Warning lights lit up his cockpit like a Christmas tree, and the voice of the computer system recited a litany of woe. "After stabilizers hit, weapon systems at zero, defensive grid at zero, power plant near critical mass, Minbari weapon systems locking on."

Jankowski growled back, "Not like this. Not like this. If I'm going out I'm taking you bastards with me." Looking around he saw a major Minbari ship, and made a fateful decision. "Target main cruiser. Set for full velocity ram. After burners on my mark….mark!" The cruiser grew rapidly in his forward view port. Good Lord, the thing was immense. A crimson collision alert began to flash on his lower HUD. He felt a wave of sadness, as he knew his final sacrifice would really accomplish little, if not nothing at all. But it was all he had, and he would go out spitting his defiance in the face of the enemy. There were only seconds left, and in a sudden rush of fear and instinct, he screamed and threw up his arms, a hardwired response, an evolutionary strategy bred into the species to protect the all important brain and cluster of sensors that made up the human head. And then a bright light washed through the cockpit, blinding him even through his arms and eyelids. And then, mercifully, he knew no more.  
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 **Mars**

 _The best laid plans, of mice and men, often go awry_ thought Commander Jeffrey Sinclair to himself, as he fired his PPG wildly down the street. It had all started to so well. The evacuation was going perfectly, and faster than he could have expected. The registered fleet passengers who were stationed on Mars were on shuttles and headed towards their berths on the ships of the fleet. Even the initial collection of schools and businesses had seemed to go well. With the news coming in from Earth, safety was all anyone could think of, and when it was offered people generally grabbed on with both hands. In fact, the biggest challenge had been holding off random strangers on the street who overheard promises of safety and wanted in right damned now. His men and women had had to make promises of orderly evacuations and that they would be back.

Perhaps people had seen through those lies. Or, perhaps it had been the steady stream of ground transports heading for the port rather than any known bunkers. Perhaps the Mars civilian authorities had simply decided to look into what all of those Earth Force sailors and marines were doing, running about all over the place. Whatever it was, despite all of their best efforts, the truth had quickly gotten out. Getting to their pickup points had become a challenge, and then an outright fight, as empty streets had suddenly filled with protesters, who shortly transformed into rioters.

People wanted to get onto the transports. They wanted to get someone else off of the transports. They didn't want the transports going anywhere at all. And no matter what their desire or objection, it was clearly Earth Force which must be to blame for their not getting it. The evacuation had been slowed to a crawl as his forces sat buttoned up in their transports, while mobs of civilians hurled rocks and sticks and the occasional PPG fire at his transports. They had been forced to spend hours driving around mobs, trying to find open paths to their pickup zones. Eventually, General Lefcourt had given the order to push through, and the heavy transports had slowly shoved their way through the crowds. Sinclair would be eternally grateful that the transports were heavy enough that he would not feel a bump from any luckless civilian unable to get out of the way in the press of the crowds. He was quite certain that more than one had greased the wheels and axles of the transports.

It only got harder after that. The mobs and the civilian authority both started erecting barricades. His transports were starting to take heavier and heavier weapons fire, and he knew at least a couple of transport had been destroyed. He knew that Lefcourt had been on comms numerous time with the Governor of Mars as well as civilian law enforcement. It had been hoped that the Mars LEOs could be scooped up with the evacuation, as their skills would be quite useful. That was looking to be impossible now, but Sinclair had heard that Lefcourt had their comms units hacked, and a general offer of free passage to all Law Enforcement personnel and their families transmitted openly. Which meant that the cat was well and truly out of the bag.

Sinclair was already supposed to be up with the fleet. He was boarding a packed shuttle when he had noticed one weeping little girl, she couldn't have been more than six or seven, fighting the Marine at the door to get out. He had a hold of her, but she was reaching out of the open hatch, screaming for her mother. He wasn't quite certain how he could tell, but she seemed to be reaching out to a particular woman on the edge of the launch pad, past the ring of armed Marines struggling to hold the crowd back. He had tapped the Marine on the shoulder and ordered him to wait, then had taken the little girl from him and carried her down the ramp to where she was pointing.

He stopped a few feet short of the Marines when he heard the little girl switch her mantra from just _mommy_ to _mommy, daddy_. He ordered the Marines to let the two civilians through. There was nearly a breach as others tried to exploit the brief opening, but shortly Sinclair was able to hand the hysterical little girl over to her nearly as emotional parents. He then hustled them all aboard the shuttle. The father seemed reluctant, but he was now surrounded by armed troops, and wisely elected not to make a fuss. Sinclair lead them back to the shuttle, and crammed them both on board. That put the shuttle over the maximum weight load, so he got off himself and waited for the next shuttle.

It was shortly after that the call came in. A group of transports carrying medical staff had been cut off and were taking heavy fire. Sinclair gathered a group of Marines and began to organize a relief force. He was unsurprised to see Garibaldi bringing in a group of GroPos to aide him. They pulled out in a group of three mostly empty transports, with Garibaldi and Sinclair riding together in the lead vehicle.

Garibaldi had cursed as they approached the scene of the ambush. Large trucks had been used to block every road approaching the intersection where the transports had been stopped. But they could see past the trucks that all three of the transports they had come to rescue were heavily engulfed in flames. The troops and civilians which had been on board had baled out and sought cover anywhere they could find it...in buildings, down alleys, or even behind the occasional potted tree. The trap seemed to have been laid by local law enforcement, but a civilian mob had pushed into the area, and now everyone was embroiled in a three way free for all.

Sinclair left the Marines to guard the transports, while he, Garibaldi, and the GroPos charged the barricades in an effort to relieve the pinned down Fleet forces and the civilians they were protecting. The firefight which ensued was brutal and chaotic. Sinclair was pretty sure that more than once he was fired on by the panicked Fleet crew. This was confirmed when Garibaldi shouted, "Not us morons! We're the one's trying to rescue your smelly hides. Try NOT to frag us!"

The fighting grew more intense, and a mob seemed to be pressing in from every side. Sinclair began to worry about running out of charge for their PPGs. They were forced to sweep the intersection clear building by building, searching for the hiding civilians and Fleet crew. As they were found, they were shunted back to the waiting transports, which were now coming under fire themselves.

Sinclair was firing his PPG wildly down the street, at a knot of LEOs who were trying to flank them, when Garibaldi crept up to him, careful to stay under cover, and tapped his shoulder. "Time to go, Commander. Looks like we got just about everybody, but we're gonna be overwhelmed before too much longer."

He nodded in agreement, and the two men headed towards a gap between the nearest barricade and the building it abutted. They had just passed the barricade when they heard a scuffle and shouting coming from a nearby alleyway. Taking a few moments to investigate, they noticed an Earth Force officer, trying to go hand to hand with eight rioters who had him surrounded, and getting the worse of it.

His PPG was on the ground nearby, so either he had run out of juice, or he was an idiot and had decided that he could only fight unarmed civilians the "honorable" way. Sinclair hoped it was the former. He didn't want to lay out the effort he was about to go through for a fool liable to get himself killed later on anyway. The man was pretty good at fighting, and moving around quite a bit. Between that and the fact that he was literally in the middle of his foes, Sinclair decided that he could not risk using his PPG for fear of striking the officer.

He glanced at Garibaldi, and a look of understanding passed between them. They shared a brief smile, and then waded into the fight, swinging for all they were worth. The men were no cowards, and still outnumbered them eight to three, but the Earth Force officers were very good at hand to hand. A month of strenuous exercise had nearly returned Sinclair to peak form, though his bones and joints ached every day, and he made sure that every blow counted. They were all tired from the seemingly unending evacuation, and needed to keep the fight brief. He took a blow to the head that tunneled his vision, and another to the arm that nearly refractured it, causing it to drop numb to his side. But a second later he was looking at the backs of six retreating thugs, two more lying unconscious on the ground, while Garibaldi tugged him and the other officer towards the transports.

The transports were now under heavy fire, and were already turned about and prepared to depart expeditiously. Only one hatch remained open and they headed straight for it. Someone had apparently given the Marines the Free Fire command, because they were laying down a heavy barrage of PPG fire. The rioters and LEOs apparently had no taste for that level of combat, because pursuit abruptly ceased.

Sinclair staggered onboard the waiting transport, and fell onto the nearest spot of open floor, the seats all being filled by civilians and the injured. Garibaldi and the other officer fell in next to him. The hatch clanged shut. It was only then that Sinclair realized the man lying next to him was Captain John Sheridan. Had he known that, he wasn't _entirely_ certain he would have gone in to rescue the man. _Oh well, better this way._

A marine standing near the driver's compartment shouted back to them. "Welcome back! You just made it! We'll get back to the port just in time to catch one of the last couple of shuttles to leave from this dome. Good thing you didn't wait any longer. You wouldn't want to still be on the surface when the Minbari get here!"

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 **High Earth Orbit**

Delenn's thoughts and emotions swirled in turmoil, while the Grey Council argued incessantly but quietly around her. The reason for her turmoil, and both the Council's argument as well as it's hushed tones, stood just a handful of meters away. The Earth Force officer was restrained, strapped to a triangular frame designed to hold Minbari immobile. It would have no difficulty restraining a human. He seemed to be stuck on the boundary between consciousness and unconsciousness, and moaned in his delirium. The sound sent a fresh wave of confusion through Delenn.

It was the Jankowski. The killer of Dukhat. How could he be here? How, out of all of the humans in the battle, could she have selected him? What did it mean? What was the universe trying to say? She had prayed for this man's death, screamed for his blood, and now she was in the position of saving him. It wasn't fair.

When Dukhat had been killed the Grey Council had been split on how to proceed...immediate war, or investigation and an attempt at peace. Despite her having just been raised to the Grey, despite her mentor having just died in her arms, it had fallen to her to choose, to cast the deciding vote. She had been too young, too inexperienced, and too devastated by Dukhat's death. She had bayed for blood, demanding no mercy, and had Driven the Minbari mad. It was she who had driven them down the road of vengeance and genocide. Over the last two years, despite the fact that she had come to deeply regret that impulsive decision, both she and the Minbari had been trapped by it. There had been one hope for peace, and it had been lost, taking another of her old friends with it.

And now, with the Jankowski here, it might again fall to her to decide. The Council was again split, deeply divided over what had been discovered. For nearly a day the Jankowski had been interrogated, tortured, experimented upon, and brain scanned. The Minbari handling the interrogation had been told to get everything they could from him; to pluck all of Earth's and his own secrets from his mind, to give them every advantage for the final assault upon Earth. During that time the fleet had occupied itself wiping out any remaining ships or orbital defenses and infrastructure around Earth, and in slamming down a blockade to prevent any more humans from fleeing the planet.

What the interrogators found had astonished them, and it had been a very nervous Alyt Raalenn who had come to deliver the final report. "Satais," he had said, bowing in the traditional Minbari fashion. "We have been successful in pulling forth the human's military secrets. We have also discovered a great deal about the human and his species."

Coplann had interrupted. "We have no use for information about a man and species who will shortly cease to exist. The military information will be sufficient."

Satai Jenimer, of the Religious Caste, had countered, "Is it not said that in order to defeat something you must understand it? All knowledge is valuable, and the Alyt put much effort into this report. We should hear him out."

"Then we must understand the humans very well already, for we have surely defeated them," Coplann argued. "But if you insist, then let us hear the Alyt's report. _Try_ to make it brief, though."

Alyt Raalenn bowed again. "We found many things in his mind, but the most important was this….it was a mistake. He realizes that opening fire at our first contact was a mistake, and one that he deeply regrets. He did not intend to kill Dukhat. In his fear and his ignorance, he opened fire in the desire to get us to back away so that he could get his ships and his people away.

"This is not the beast we believed we were fighting. He is deeply flawed. He is full of fear and suspicion, ambition and pride. But there is also hope, courage, fortitude, and even nobility. He did not want this war, and is tortured by it."

"Of course he is," Coplann broke in, no longer able to restrain himself. "He is about to see the death of his species, and knows that he brought it down upon them. It would be foolish to think even a _human_ wouldn't regret that. But the rest of what you ascribe to him? A foolish flight of fancy. The man hates us. Did you see the name on his helmet? He has made mocking us part of his very existence. I expected better, Alyt."

"It is more than that," Raalenn argued, uncowed. "Our finest telepaths have delved into his mind. He did not understand the significance of our open gunports and our scans were disabling his systems. He feared attack and fired out of fear and ignorance. But when the Centauri Ambassador Mollari later explained the honor we were paying them, he accepted the truth, despite what it meant. And he genuinely regretted the harm he caused."

There had been more to the report, but that had been the part which had split the Council. Several had been uneasy about the war for months already. They immediately moved for a cease fire. Those who supported the war were furious. They insisted that for the Minbari there was only victory or defeat; that once war had been declared, it must be followed through to the end, no matter how bitter.

And once again, Delenn was the deciding vote. She thought furiously while the Council argued quietly around her. She had been hoping, praying for this moment. A chance to stop the carnage. But now the opportunity tasted bitter in her mouth. Because of him. Because of Jankowski, the killer of Dukhat. To spare the humans would mean to spare him, and how could she do that? And what if the Warriors refused the order to surrender? It would divide the Minbari, and almost certainly lead to civil war, while still meaning the death of the humans. She didn't know what to do. She needed time to think. She took refuge in tradition.

"The interrogation is not yet done," she advised the Council. "Tradition and law require us to end with Vallen's test."

"Vallen's test?!" Coplann hissed, incredulous. "The Triluminary?! Do you actually expect to find a Minbari _soul_ in this _thing_?! As well to test the floor, or my Den'bok."

"Be that as it may, it is our tradition, and our law," Delenn told him firmly.

"Have done with it then, Delenn," he insisted. Delenn turned to approach the man who was the cause of all of her nightmares.

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Jankowski slowly came back to consciousness. He hurt everywhere, and tasted blood in his mouth. His mind was foggy and slow, and the last several hours, or was it days, were all a blur. But, he was certain he had been tortured, interrogated, and probably scanned telepathically. What else could they possibly want from him?

He heard a strange murmuring sound, and rolled his head to the side to behold a strange sight. A group of people stood huddled in a knot just a few meters away, having a low voiced conversation. It almost sounded like a hushed argument. He guessed they had to be Minbari, but it was impossible to tell, given all nine of them were covered head to toe in strange grey robes.

That thought tugged at something in the recesses of his fuzzy subconscious. He worried at it, since he had nothing else to do. Nine...grey robes...nine of them… It eventually came back to him, just as one of the shorter figures turned towards him, holding something. He had read reports on the interviews with the Centauri Ambassador. He had said that they knew almost nothing about the Minbari, but that it was believed that they were ruled by a group of nine called the Grey Council. Could this be them?!

If so, then perhaps all of his guilt and torment, all of the failed suicide attempts, and even the torture and interrogation, perhaps it might all have been worth it. Perhaps he could put right the crime he had committed.

If he could….if he could just make them understand that it was all his fault. His responsibility. His crime. He had killed their leader, not the human race. Perhaps there was a chance. He would offer himself up for his crimes, and maybe they would spare humanity. It was his only hope.

He tried to make eye contact with the figure who had turned towards him, and called out with all of his strength and desperation, "It was me! I am the one who killed your leader! Do you hear me!? _I_ killed Dukhat! I offer my…"

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Delenn turned to approach the man who was the cause of all of her nightmares, the Triluminary in her hand. However, she took but a single step before the man began to shout at her. She froze at his words.

"It was me! I am the one who killed your leader!"

Delenn's mind whirled. It couldn't be! The beast, the filthy animal, was _bragging_ about killing Dukhat!

"Do you hear me!? _I_ killed Dukhat!"

It was too much. He started to say something else, but Delenn wasn't listening, wasn't thinking. The Triluminary slipped from her hand and clattered onto the floor. With a scream of primal rage and anguish, she hurled herself forward. One of her hands found his jaw, the other the back of his head. She saw an instant of fear in his eyes, before she heaved with all of her strength. His human neck was no match for her Minbari physique, and with crack that echoed around the room, she suddenly found herself looking at the back of his head. Their bodies went limp at the same time, but while Delenn found herself sitting numbly on the floor, Jankowski's corpse continued to hang from the frame to which it had been strapped.

Coplann approached, picked the Triluminary off of the floor, and placed it in Delenn's lap. Then, standing with a look of amusement and perhaps approval on his face, he addressed the rest of the Council. "I believe we have Delenn's vote." Before Delenn could bring herself to respond, the Grey Council had dispersed.  
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 **Mars**

The final shuttle to leave Mars blasted into the sky. On board was the last batch of Marines and GroPos, who had been holding the port against rioters and looters. Riding along were John Sheridan, Jeffrey Sinclair, and Michael Garibaldi.

The evacuation had devolved to the point where it was impossible to go out and choose who they wanted. In the end Lefcourt had ordered that they just shuttle up whoever was willing to go, so long as they had room. The Mars civilian government hadn't liked that idea, though, and had broadcast orders for all citizens to stay home. Law enforcement had done their best to enforce the edict, and Lefcourt had been unwilling to go to war with the Mars government any more than absolutely necessary.

The supply of civilians making their way to the port had rapidly dried up. The open invitation to all Law Enforcement personnel had actually netted quite a few individuals, though they reported having to slip past, and occasionally being fired upon by, their former peers. There would be empty seats in the fleet, though thankfully not too many. No doubt the civies would still feel like they were being crammed in like sardines.

Sinclair tried not to listen in as Sheridan made a personal communication. "Anna, it's me. Where are you? Please tell me you caught a shuttle to the fleet. I'm worried. Comm me back when you get this." Afterwards he sat down again next to Sinclair and Garibaldi.

"Wife?" Michael asked curiously.

Sheridan shook his head. "Girl friend. Pretty serious though. I wanted her up with the fleet weeks ago, but she refused to stop working. She's a Xeno-archeologist, and has been working a dig. With as overloaded as the civilian comms have been, I'm not sure where she's at. How about you guys?"

Garibaldi shook his head, but Sinclair said "I've got a girlfriend named Catherine, but she's an officer on the Eratosthenes, so I know exactly where she's at. I'm sorry to hear about your girl. Hopefully it will all work out, but let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

Sheridan looked at him for a moment, then said, "There is actually." Turning his head, he called over his shoulder, "Hey Markenson, break out the nukes." A large Master Chief of African descent, seated by the far bulkhead, sprang to his feet and hustled to the front of the cabin. He unstrapped and then dragged over two large metal containers, each marked "Nuclear Ordnance." Sheridan punched a seven digit code into the keypad on the locking mechanism, and then opened the container. Inside, Sinclair was surprised to see, the thing had been packed with ice and bottled beer. Sheridan pulled out a bottle and offered it to Sinclair. "You can accept my apology. I've been thinking about finding a way to offer it ever since I recognized you at the initial command meeting. You guys saved my hide today, and it's well past time I owned up to being such a jerk. The amount of hazing I put you through at the academy was well beyond appropriate. I'm not that guy anymore, and I hope we can be friends moving forward. So, I'm sorry, for being a major pain in the ass."

"As I recall," Sinclair responded after taking a pull on the beer, "you were a Cadet Captain pain in the ass. And some amount of hazing is called for when a freshman spills a plate of spaghetti on an upper classman. Apology accepted."

"Thank you." He nodded to the Master Chief, who began passing out the beers to the Marines and GroPos. "I intended these as a reward for the troops who pulled the garbage detail of holding the port until the last shuttle. I never imagined that the three of us would be on that last shuttle."

He punched another code into the second container, opening it to reveal a pile of steaming cheeseburgers. Taking one, he slapped it in Michael's hand, saying, "Mr. Garibaldi, you're too damned thin. Eat up." Both Sinclair and Garibaldi noticed and appreciated that he did not offer a beer to the recovering alcoholic. Sheridan got a cheeseburger for himself and Sinclair before motioning for the Master Chief to pass the burgers around as well. Then he sat down to eat. "Well, gentlemen, that's one job done. Enjoy the meal. It's only going to get harder from here.


	4. Chapter 3 - Breaking Down

Chapter 3 - Breaking Down

 **Mars Orbit- September, 2248**

"Captain on the Bridge!" The call rang out as John Sheridan floated into the room. Officers and crew sprang to attention for a moment, whether they were bouncing across the room or strapped into their stations.

"As you were," he called out. In zero G it was necessary to give the command quickly, lest someone who had been on a ballistic trajectory smack into a bulkhead while maintaining a stance of attention. Sheridan made his way to the Captain's chair and strapped in. "Status report?"

His First Officer, newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Laurel Takashima did not unstrap from her station, but did turn her head and provided a crisp and succinct report. "Ship and crew are squared away and prepped for departure. All systems read nominal. The repair crews just finished connecting the power runs to the main battery not fifteen minutes ago. All laser cannon read operational and in the green. We're as good as we'll get, sir."

"Outstanding. And the fleet?"

"Much of it is already enroute to Point Omega. Eratosthenes is leading the way. We made it a priority to load the slowest civie ships first so that they could be the first to get underway. That way they'll be less of an anchor in case this turns into a tail chase. We're the last combat vessel still in orbit. Lexington departed over an hour ago. There are only three civie ships left, all ready to depart with us, all fast enough to keep up with us as long as we stay below eighty percent of maximum acceleration. Commander Sinclair has the Starfuries out, all of them, including ours, running up and down the line of travel, shepherding the little lambs. Eratosthenes should reach Point Omega within the hour. They'll wait a bit for the fleet to bunch up before taking some of them through to hyperspace."

Point Omega was the location selected for the fleet to jump into hyperspace. In order to ensure that the entire fleet wouldn't be destroyed if the Minbari showed up before loading was completed, Point Omega was located three light minutes away from Mars, at a ninety degree angle to the plane of the ecliptic. It was hoped that this would minimize the possibility of a chance encounter with Minbari forces, while also making it far enough away that any Minbari attacking Mars couldn't just roll up the fleet from the rear without allowing time for much of the fleet to escape.

A hidden hyperspace beacon had been placed at this location. It was assumed that the Io gate had been destroyed by the Minbari; but just in case a self destruct charge had been placed on the gate, and they would signal it to blow as the fleet departed. It was hoped that, between the shift in beacon location and the continuing hijinks being played with the Earth Alliance beacon network, the Minbari would have a difficult time following them.

"And what about our Minbari friends?"

"They've been bombarding Earth with precision beam strikes for the last thirty six hours. There has been some limited shuttle activity, and we believe that at least some limited ground forces have been deployed. They don't seem to want to commit much until they've reduced the ability of the folks on the ground to resist. These tactics might mean that they do not intend to exterminate the populace, but we just can't say."

"How about that little present I wanted arranged for them?"

"Dead Duck is in place and ready to go."

"Good. Any indications of Minbari headed this way?"

"No Minbari vessels on approach through normal space, but several ships have jumped to hyperspace over the last several hours. That's why we've been rushing the fleet out as fast as we could load them."

"Then we'd better get moving. Let the civies know that we are about to depart. Bring us to the proper heading and get us under way, acceleration at seventy-five percent."

"Aye, Sir." The Lieutenant Commander relayed the commands to the appropriate stations and, despite the inertial compensators, Sheridan felt the centrifugal forces pull him into his straps as the powerful Dreadnought spun agilely about. He was then shoved backwards in his seat as the main engines kicked in and propelled the ship rapidly forward.

Three seconds later, a horrific clanging and crashing sound reverberated throughout the ship. "Report," Sheridan barked, as the ship shuddered around him. It took a few seconds for Takashima to respond as she spun her console through the various data feeds from around the ship. Sheridan could tell when she realized what had happened. It was the moment she went beet red from the collar of her uniform right to her hair line. He hadn't even known it was possible for someone of Asian ancestry to blush that vividly. "Report!" he barked again as a second crash resounded through the ship.

"Ahh...that would be the number seven laser cannon turret, Sir. It was the last one being worked upon. It would appear that when the work crews connected the power runs, they neglected to secure the turret locking collar. Our rotation and acceleration were just right to cause the turret to pull out of it's mount. It is currently tethered to the ship only by the power runs, which are causing the turret to oscillate outward and then back into the ship." These words were punctuated by a third massive crash."

"Lieutenant Commander," Sheridan said in a quiet, deceptively calm voice. "Are you telling me that one of our Medium Laser Cannon turrets, the single most powerful energy weapon currently in use on any Earth Force vessel, is dangling off the side of the ship by the damned power cord?"

"The number seven turret, yes, Sir. We had a number of compartments exposed to vacuum. The gun crew escaped, but we have four crew members headed to sickbay for minor decompression injuries. I apologize, Sir. I should have caught this, and take full responsibility." Sheridan was impressed. Her voice barely squeaked at all, though that red blush of true mortification remained.

"Is the locking collar unsecured on any of our other turrets," he continued in that quiet, intense voice."

"Turrets four, eleven and fifteen are similarly unsecured, Sir. I have dispatched repair teams to secure them, but that cannot be properly done under acceleration, Sir. We can ensure the turrets do not detach, but only by locking them in place. They will not be functional until we can stop the engines and send out EVA repair crews." Her words were punctuated by yet another crashing sound.

"So what you are saying, Ms. Takashima, is that in less than a minute, without even seeing the enemy, we have lost nearly twenty-five percent of our offensive capability?"

"Yes, sir."

Sheridan sighed, and then chose to not explode at the poor officer. It really wasn't her fault. The repair teams should have known better, and there was simply too much happening too quickly for even a stellar officer like Takashima to stay on top of it all. "Is that all?" he asked.

"No, sir. The capacitors in the turret were charged for combat, in case the Minbari showed up. With the turret bouncing off the hull like it is, I'm concerned we could have an accidental discharge. There is at least the possibility, given the way the turret is swinging from the power leads, that if that were to happen the guns might actually be pointing at the ship when they discharge."

Sheridan bit back a curse, and then calmly asked her for suggestions.

"Given the danger to the ship sir, it might be prudent to blow the leads and just let the turret go."

"I'd rather not give up such a significant portion of our firepower at the beginning of this mission. Could we have repair crews secure it?"

"Not while under acceleration, Captain. Not unless you are willing to accept a significant number of casualties amongst the repair crews?"

"Pass."

"Could we stop accelerating? We could probably get it lashed down in twenty to thirty minutes."

"And the Minbari could show up at any time. No, we need to keep moving. Think, Laurel. There's another answer."

She looked up at those works, realizing that the Captain already had an answer, but wanted her to come up with it herself, as this was nominally her fault. But the simple understanding that there _was_ a solution allowed her to relax and clear her mind. And then it came to her. "The number nine turret...if we spin it around in the right way, it could act as a fork, to catch and pin the number seven turret in place against the hull. It will be tricky, and temporary and kludgy as hell, but it could work. It might cause damage to the number nine turret or it's cannons, though."

"We can repair damage much easier than we can replace a lost turret. Make it happen, Laurel." And less than a minute later she had. The whole crew breathed a sigh of relief as the awful crashing ceased. "Now that's it's no longer banging around, it should be safer to get an EVA crew out there to secure the thing properly. Have them be careful. We're still under acceleration. Good job, Lieutenant Commander."

"Aye, Sir," she said, looking up with a smile.

 _This fleet might just make it after all, Sheridan thought to himself._

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 _There is no way this fleet is going to make it,_ Bester thought to himself as a small shove kicked him off of the Mother and back into space, along with the rest of the Black Omega squadron. His engines kicked in automatically at maximum thrust, just as planned, and the squadron went shooting up the strung out line of ships that made up the exodus fleet. As the G-forces increased rapidly, he heard a wild whoop of sheer joy come from Ensign Ironheart...again. "Do try to show a bit of decorum, Black Omega 6," he reprimanded mildly.

"Sorry, sir. I just love my job!" Ironheart had only been a Psi-Cop for a few months, but he had a lot of previous piloting experience, even in Starfuries, which made him a natural for Black Omega, but also meant that he didn't quite fit in with the rest of the hardened Psi-Cops.

"Well, I'm glad at least one of us is having fun. Now, if you will, let's focus on keeping these mundanes organized and moving. Commander Sinclair is quite exercised about keeping an eye on everything, which means none of us get's a moment's rest until the fleet is out of the system. Probably not even then," he added, after a moment's thought. "Fortunately, right now we don't seem to have any problems.

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"Captain, we've got a problem, a big one," Takashima called out. "This one's not my fault, Sir. It's not even on this ship," she added when he scowled at her. "We have mobs forming on over half a dozen ships. It seems a lot of the Marsies we scooped up are not happy about leaving Mars, much less the system. They are demanding to be returned to Mars. Things are already at near riot levels. We have the available troops and security personnel deployed, but the resources we have on any given ship are far less than what we had available down on Mars. We've got _cadets_ deployed for crowd control on the Olympic….Oh, hell! Better make that two problems, Sir. Two dozen Minbari vessels just jumped into high Mars orbit."

"Put me through to General Lefcourt, now. And prep Dead Duck."

"Aye, Sir."

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"TAKE US BACK! TAKE US BACK! TAKE US BACK!" The chant reverberated throughout the Atrium Core of the Olympic. Formerly a luxury liner for the elite, the ship was basically an impressively sized yet mobile O'Neill Cylinder. The core of the ship was an enormous green space filled with trees and artificial waterways. It was a little odd to stroll down a path and see people having a similar stroll directly above you, but it was still nice to have a touch of nature in space. Despite the changes and crowding which had been wrought throughout the rest of the ship, the Atrium Core had been left mostly unchanged, as a space for the many tens of thousands of civilians crammed aboard to relax just a little. It was still crowded, but at least it didn't feel like the walls were closing in.

Unfortunately it was also the ideal place for large groups of people to gather, and that meant it was the perfect place for the formation of the mob that Cadet Susan Ivanova was currently staring down. The Academy had been slated for residence on the Olympic, which meant that, in order to balance military presence, there were extremely few Marines or GroPos aboard, and the security personnel couldn't be everywhere at once. Which was why, just over an hour ago, she and the rest of the cadets had been ordered into uniform and then hustled out of the barracks. The notion that this was just another training exercise had evaporated the moment she realized that her instructors and some Security personnel were issuing what appeared to be riot gear. She was given a riot vest which was a size too small, a helmet without a proper faceplate and which was at least a couple of sizes too large, and a stun baton.

They had been marched down to the Atrium Core and stretched in a thin double line across the passageways to the more sensitive and secure parts of the ship. For the time being the civies would be allowed to congregate, but would be contained in the Core. Their only orders had been to prevent the crowd (she hadn't been quite ready to call it a mob) from getting past them and accessing those areas. The only problem being, they had no real instruction and even less training on just how to accomplish those orders. A Security Officer, seeing them standing around like lost lambs, had hustled over and ordered the front line to hook their arms together, forming a human wall, and for the cadets in the second line to prepare to stop any breachers with whatever force was necessary.

And that was how Susan found herself holding onto the cadets on either side of her, her stun baton dangling uselessly from her belt, while she watched the mood of the crowd grow steadily darker. The appearance of the cadets had given them a focal point for their anger, and insults and trash were hurled at her in equal measure. _At least Mars civies are too practical to throw precious fruit_ , she thought to herself. What appeared to be a drink container bounced off of her, right where the _damned faceplate_ should have been, had she had proper gear. Blinking her eyes she watched in growing concern as the leading elements of the, yes it was now a mob, screwed up their courage and moved closer and closer to a physical altercation with the cadets, in an attempt to break through. Another piece of flying trash hit her vest and stuck. Good God, the smell coming off of it was atrocious. She really didn't want to consider just exactly what it was that was now stuck to her chest, just below her neck. Her helmet tipped forward into her eyes, increasing her ire. Feeling like she was playing Red Rover didn't help her mood any at all.

The first officer, NonCom actually, she had seen in nearly half an hour walked calmly down the back of the line, offering encouragement in a thick Irish brogue. "Tighten up, me boyos! D' nay let these college gobshites scare ye!"

 _Well that was terribly helpful_ , she thought to herself. She had been a college gobshite (whatever that was) herself just a year ago. And then the death of her brother in the war had caused her to change direction. She had joined Earth Force to honor and avenge him. But she had intended to fight Minbari, not civilians who were just scared and upset and mostly around her age.

And then the mob was upon them. Susan found a young man of average height screaming in her face. A tall statuesque blond, Susan guessed fleetingly that she was the girlfriend, stood just behind him, attempting to restrain him. He put his hands on Susan's shoulders and shoved, attempting and failing to knock her out of line. He shoved twice more, still failing to dislodge her as she struggled to remain in place, and the cadets of the second line braced her from behind. The line of cadets rippled as similar efforts were made up and down the line. The screaming of the mob redoubled, and then the man in front of her switched from shoving her shoulders to shoving her face. He just put his hand right on her nose and shoved, knocking her helmet off in the process.

 _Oh, hell no!_ Susan didn't really think about her next actions. She just unhooked her arms from the cadets to either side. The man, boy really, smiled in triumph, until Susan quickly reached up and grabbed his wrist and elbow, just as she had been shown in her sparring classes, and twisted. With a yelp he was spun around and went up on his tiptoes, as he found his arm chicken-winged behind his back. As rioters ran around her through the gap she had created, to tussle with the second line of cadets, she gave an angry shout and heaved upwards. There was a loud pop as his arm dislocated from his shoulder.

He didn't even scream, just immediately passed out and collapsed to the floor. Shocked at what she had done, Susan sent an apologetic glance towards the girlfriend, only to find the blonde's fist smashing into her jaw. Susan's vision tunnelled a bit, but now she was really angry, and she stepped in and drove an elbow into the side of that pretty face. The blonde cursed her and, with a flying tackle, took Susan to the ground. And that's when all hell broke loose.

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"Captain," Takashima called, "we've got all hell breaking loose on the Olympic! The cadets and security forces are in a running melee with the civilian population."

"Orders from the General?"

"General Lefcourt is dealing with another crisis. He commed to ask you to deal with the riots by whatever means you see fit."

"Captain! The Minbari above Mars are moving," called out the young Lieutenant running sensors.

"Destination?"

"They are moving into a lower orbit, Sir. They appear to be heading for a point directly above Mars Dome One."

"Dead Duck?"

"Right where it's supposed to be, Captain."

Sheridan thought for a moment, and then had an idea. "Relay visual feeds and radio chatter from our sensors around Mars to the Olympic...no, to all ships. Have the Captains broadcast them over their public address systems.

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The blonde was feisty, Susan would give her that much. Despite the fighting all around them, they had focused on each other, and found themselves quite evenly matched. Susan knew she would soon be sporting a number of vivid bruises from blows the woman had delivered. But, Susan finally had the upper hand...sort of. They were both on the floor, but her arm was around the blonde's throat, choking her from behind. Of course, that meant the blonde was laying directly on top of her. Susan had tried to reach her stun baton, but the damned thing was pinned underneath her.

With a squeal and flash the enormous vid-screens scattered around the Core flared to life. The large reddish planet slowly rotating in the background was clearly Mars, but the view was centered on a number of Minbari ships. There were at least a half dozen of their giant cruisers, and about twice that many of the smaller escort classes. The vessels were clearly headed towards the planet.

 _This feed must be coming from a stealth-sat_ , Susan thought. _By now the Minbari will have destroyed just about everything else nearby_. She had no more than had the thought when a green ray erupted from one of the Minbari vessels, casually sweeping some detritus out of their path.

The image shifted to a different angle, astern of the Minbari, and now the gleam of what had to be Mars Dome One could be seen on the Martian surface, appearing to be directly in the path of the Minbari fleet. And then, shockingly, a Minbari voice was heard in an open transmission. " _All humans, prepare to be transported to Earth. Any resistance will be seen as the act of Warriors_." As far as Susan knew, this had never happened before, and she didn't know what it would mean for the civilians left on Mars.

And then a voice, she believed it was the Mars Governor's, responded on the same open frequency. "Negative, Minbari craft. Mars has declared sovereignty from Earth, and neutrality in your war with them. We mean you no harm, and did not participate in any aggression against you. We will not allow our citizens to continue to be removed from their homes."

There was no further response from the Minbari, but the warships on the screen seemed to suddenly accelerate, rapidly moving away from whatever camera was recording them. The scene suddenly shifted to a wide angle lens situated on the Martian surface. Mars Dome One loomed large in the foreground. High in the sky above, the Minbari ships could be seen, little more than gleaming specs in the remaining evening sunlight. The Governor spoke again, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "Don't do it! We have women and children down here! Don't do it!"

He had barely ceased speaking when lines of green fire streaked down from the fleet above and began carving up the colony. They carved glowing lines across the dome, opening it to the Martian atmosphere. Within seconds the primary dome began to collapse. The beams them spread out and began to carve up the surrounding domes. Susan could only imagine the chaos and terror and carnage that must be occurring in those domes. The firing continued for much longer than would have seemed necessary. The Minbari were being very thorough. But finally, thankfully, the firing ceased.

Where previously there was bedlam, the Core was now nearly silent. Having released the blonde sometime during the attack on Mars Dome One, Susan felt the woman roll off of her and then stand. Susan followed cautiously, and looked around. The Atrium Core was a mess. Trees, furniture, and people had been scattered everywhere. Susan looked around trying to get her bearings. She heard soft weeping and sobbing coming from a number of directions. She was a bit surprised to realize that some of it was coming from the nearby blonde.

Feeling more that a bit uncomfortable, but also guilty over her actions during the chaos, she gingerly patted the woman on the back. "Hey, it'll be ok."

The sobbing didn't stop, but she heard a husky, bitter voice say, "What would you know? As far as I can tell everyone I love, everyone I know just died. What am I supposed to do now?"

"You survive. You've got your life. You've got Romeo over there," she said, gesturing to the still unconscious boyfriend. "And we pulled a lot of people off of Mars. You might just find that there are quite a few people you know in the fleet. It sucks, and your life is never going to be the same. But you honor the lost by fighting back."

"What would you know?"

"The Minbari killed my brother Ganya. He was a Starfury pilot in Earth Force. My father and almost everyone I knew growing up are still back on Earth, being slaughtered by the Minbari. I'm in the same boat you are. Literally," she said looking around again at the ship that would be their home for who knew how long.

"For the longest time, Earth was the only enemy I could imagine."

"Hey, I understand having past grudges. Believe me, I'm Russian, and we know all about holding a grudge," she said, thinking about her own vendetta against the Psi-Corp for what they had done to her mother. She wasn't prepared to share something so personal with a perfect stranger, though. Instead, she continued, "But the war with the Minbari...that's about humanity. It's about survival. What's your name?"

"Tessa...Tessa Holloran."

"I'm Susan…" Just then the screens flickered again, and she found herself looking at the one real hero to come out of the war so far. John Sheridan, who had destroyed the Black Star and her escorts. Who had served on the same ship as her brother Ganya. He was younger than she had expected, but radiated a wisdom and strength that grabbed every eye. And then he spoke.

"To all security personnel and Martian civilians in the fleet. As of right now, we make a new beginning. As you can see, there is no where to take you back to. The Minbari are busy destroying both Mars and Earth. No action will be taken against anyone who may have engaged in any questionable activities up to this point. You get a free pass. Make the most of it. We're all in this together. Now return to your quarters. The Minbari may come after us next, and things could get a bit rough. Oh, and I'll be leaving the video feed of the Minbari running for the next few minutes. We may just have a surprise for them you might enjoy. Sheridan out."

His face was replaced by another scene of the Minbari warships. They had mostly ceased firing, though a stray shot still speared out every so often, cutting into some newly detected target. When it didn't appear that anything would be happening immediately, Susan glanced around and realized that Tessa was starting to get emotional again. Tapping the young woman on the shoulder, she nodded at the recumbent boyfriend. "Come on. I'll help you get Romeo back to his bunk."

"Actually, we haven't been assigned quarters yet. We were supposed to, but then the crowds started to form, and ...and he's always been very passionate about independence...so we just kind of followed along. Why do you keep calling him Romeo?

"He's your boyfriend or husband or something, isn't he? I'll use his name if it's important to you."

"Boyfriend. Don't worry about the name. I thought it was serious, but then I never thought he was the kind of man to hit a woman...even one in an Earth Force uniform and riot gear."

"Well, at least let me help you get a bunk assigned. You don't want to leave that for the last minute. We're so short on space, I hear they're putting people up in the sewage reclamation plant."

Tessa finally smiled. "I think I'll take you up on that." Growing serious again, she nodded down at the man whom, just a few hours ago, she had assumed she would marry. Now she was not so certain. "I suppose we should bring him as well."

"Well, let's get started then." Susan bent down and drew one of his arms over her shoulders, and waited for Tessa to do the same. Nodding at each other, they straightened their legs and drug the man into a standing position, dangling between them. They then set off slowly towards the recently established civilian administration offices.

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The CIC was completely silent. No one so much as cursed the Minbari butchers. Taking a deep breath, Sheridan cleared his throat. "Status of Dead Duck?"

"Primed and in position. The Minbari fired into it a few times, probably to make sure it was dead, but they didn't penetrate the armor."

Dead Duck was the codename for the tramp freighter Large Barge. As it's name would imply, it was a very large vessel, mostly used for hauling ore mined in the asteroid belt to Mars and Earth. It had been mauled in a Minbari deep raid, but while the hull and reactor had been breached and the crew lost, the reactor had successfully SCRAMed and did not detonate, leaving the ship more or less intact. John had come up with the idea of towing it to Mars, and placing it in a stable Mars orbit that took it over Mars Dome One every ninety minutes.

They had access to two resources that would hopefully make Dead Duck an effective surprise for the Minbari. The first was armor. A steady progression of torn up and shredded Novas and Hyperions had been run through Operation Exodus. Each was repaired, damaged armor and hull plating removed and replaced, and when they were back in fighting trim, Earth Force would find a reason to pull them elsewhere. What that left was a lot of bits and pieces and slabs of the best armor plate Earth could design. Not to mention the repair plates which were on hand but hadn't been used. John had ordered that armor used to build a large container inside of Dead Duck's main hold. Welders had worked for a long time piecing it all together, and the finished product was far from pretty, but in the end they had an armored box with sides eight times thicker than the frontal armor of a Nova. Of course, it was what was in the box that was the true heart of Dead Duck.

The Nova class dreadnought was known for its eighteen medium laser cannon. It was one of the most powerful primary batteries amongst the races that Earth had contact with. But, in addition to those cannon, the Nova was also armed with a pair of axial mine launchers, capable of tossing out one hundred megaton mines. These were area denial weapons, not terribly accurate, and of necessity had to be used at range. That generally wasn't a problem, given their yield. However, against the Minbari, whose stealth became more effective with range, it made them all but useless. If any of those mines used in the war to date had bothered the Minbari at all, they had shown no signs of it.

Earth Force's solution to the problem had been simple...get a bigger hammer. They decided to aim for a yield increase of at least an order of magnitude, and thus a one gigaton mine had been prototyped. Unfortunately, between the increased mass and the increased yield, the mine launchers on the Nova could not safely employ the new mines. Upgraded mine launchers were slated to be installed on the new Omega class vessels, but now not even the prototype of that class would be launched.

As EarthGov had crammed more and more of their scientific and technical experts and gear into the Exodus fleet, General Lefcourt had suddenly found himself in possession of three one-gigaton mines...and wanted nothing at all to do with them. Using those mines from the existing mine launchers of the Nova would have been dangerous even for that vessel. It would be the height of folly to use them anywhere around the thin skinned civilian vessels that made up the bulk of the fleet.

And so he had them locked away, until John Sheridan noticed them on his inventory lists, and had a bright idea. Now all three mines were stuffed in the armored box in Dead Duck's hold. Several other ships in various stages of deconstruction had been placed all around the freighter, making the whole group look like an orbital scrapyard. Any stray radiation from the mines should easily be blocked by the layers of armor surrounding them. But if any should still escape, it would be swamped by the radiation still leaking from the freighter's clearly gutted reactor. And since all of the armor was inside the hold rather than on the exterior, any weapons fire directed at the ship would still appear to carve it up just like what it was...a thin skinned civilian vessel. Indeed, several Minbari fighters had fired on the vessel while securing the orbitals, just to ensure it was dead, and none had noticed a thing. The whole setup was the best trap Sheridan could design.

That trap was coming up over the horizon, and would pass within five kilometers of the Minbari formation. Sheridan had taken his best guess and gotten lucky, anticipating almost exactly where the Minbari would be if they chose to fire on the Mars colony. He had also gotten lucky on timing. With an orbital period of just over ninety minutes, it was entirely possible that the fleet could have come and gone while the trap was on the wrong side of the planet. Despite the intricacy of and resources poured into the trap, the whole thing was a shot in the dark, a roll of the dice. But Sheridan had rolled the hard six, and Dead Duck would be in optimal firing position in under five minutes.

"Captain," called out the Lieutenant on sensors, "We are getting movement from the Minbari. They seem to be repositioning, perhaps to depart into hyperspace."

"Range?"

"Still too far. We need at least another couple of minutes."

Sheridan took a deep breath, and then said, "Send a signal to that fleet. The Minbari are talkative all of a sudden. Let's see if they will talk."

"Channel open, Sir," called out the Comms officer.

"Minbari vessels. This is Captain John Sheridan. I believe you may have heard of me. You have just committed an act of genocide against the people of Mars. Surrender now, and I won't be forced to destroy you." He gestured for the Comms officer to cut the signal and then asked, "Anything?"

"Nothing yet sir."

"Then we wait."

A few moments later the Sensors officer called out, "Change in Minbari heading. All ships repositioning...all ships now oriented on us."

"Comm signal from the Minbari, Captain," Comms said in a stunned voice. The Minbari had never answered a hail before.

"Put it up."

The face of a Minbari looked out at him with a sneer. "Hello, Starkiller. I am Alyt Sineval of the Trigati. I had been hoping it would be I who would have the chance to kill you. I learned your language just so I could understand your final words. The universe smiles upon me."

"Starkiller? Because I defeated the Black Star?"

"Because your cowardly tactics are fit only for murderers!"

"You attack us from outside of our weapons range, and hiding behind your stealth fields, and you call _us_ the cowards?! You slaughter innocent civilians who have done you no harm, and you call _us_ murderers?!

"There are no innocent humans. Dukhat's blood stains the hands of all of your barbaric race. But I wanted to thank you properly for revealing yourself to me. Your hands are stained with the blood of the Drala Fi'."

Sheridan glanced at the Sensors officer who gave a small shake of his head. "Well, then, I have some final words for you and your fleet, Alyt Sineval. You may have conquered the Earth Alliance, but you will never defeat humanity. After you're dead, Alyt, I am going to have to leave Earth behind for a while. But, to quote a famous Earth Warrior, 'I shall return.' Last chance to surrender, Sineval."

"Hollow words from a hollow species. We are coming for you, Starkiller. Right now." Jump points bloomed in front of the Minbari ships...too late. While they had been speaking, Dead Duck had come to within a few miles of the Minbari ships, and Sheridan gave the order to detonate.

The design of the new mines was for a standard Fission-Fusion-Fission multi-stage boosted thermonuclear device. However, in order to maintain the same dimensions as the mines currently in use on the Nova class, a complete redesign and additional miniaturization was necessary. The three mines on board the Dead Duck were all prototypes, and field testing had been minimal. Despite this, two of the mines successfully detonated at very nearly their maximum yield. The third failed to achieve proper neutron propagation across its top layer and fizzled, exploding with the force of "only" 300 megatons. Regardless, Dead Duck detonated with a total yield well in excess of two gigatons. It also just happened to be wrapped in enough armor to make for the most devastating shrapnel cloud any human had ever considered.

The Trigati was closest to the blast, and simply ceased to exist. The ships further away did not fare much better. One other Sharlin and three Tinashis were destroyed by the initial radiation burst, but the following shrapnel cloud was far worse. Spreading out in all directions, is simply shredded the Minbari fleet. One particular thirteen ton fragment punched right through a Sharlin, then a second, and ended up lodging itself in a Tinashi on the far side, which promptly lost control of its reactors and self destructed. By the time the shrapnel cloud had passed, all that remained of the fleet was a single battered and perforated Tinashi and a double handful of fighters. The Tinashi had been on the far side of the fleet and in the blast shadow of a Sharlin. It was dead in space and streaming atmosphere from dozens of penetrations, but much of the crew survived. The Nials had been on long range perimeter patrol, and had survived entirely intact. In total, eight Sharlin and fifteen Tinashis had been snuffed out. It was the single worst military loss the Minbari had suffered since the last Shadow war.

Ecstatic cheering broke out all around Sheridan. Takashima broke in softly, "Captain, the remaining Tinashi is drifting without power. We did not detect any signals to their main fleet around Earth…. We may have time to turn around and finish them off."

"No. Our primary mission is still to get these civilians out of the system. Don't be fooled by what just happened. The Minbari are still more than capable of wiping us out. Besides, let the survivors spread the tale of what we did to them. Now let's get out of here before their main fleet realizes we're getting away. How long until all vessels are out of the system?"

"About half an hour, Sir. Sorry, I mean Starkiller."

"None of that, Lieutenant Commander. Now, let's get these people clear."

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 **Hyperspace, Nearing the Sol System - September, 2248**

Admiral Shinali Voktal looked out over his fleet; over five hundred saucers rushing through hyperspace to an uncertain fate. The Vree hadn't concentrated so much firepower since the Dilgar war, perhaps not even then. Struggling with his trepidation, he turned to his cousin Milashi, who was the representative of the Ventuki Conglomerate and officially in charge of this expedition. Of course, Milashi didn't know a thing about taking ships into combat, which was why Shinali had the command. "Cousin. Are we sure about this course of action? We dice with fate."

"Life is about risk...and reward. We have to make the Minbari see reason. We owe the humans that much. And if we can accomplish the task, it will be the humans who owe us. Besides, the Drazi are sending a fleet of their own. Humans are a very emotional species. We can't let the Drazi use this to monopolize trade with the Earth Alliance. And, honestly, a universe without the humans would be a much darker place."

"But how does standing with the humans in this way accomplish that? The Minbari are so powerful and advanced. Even if we survive, we will take devastating losses, and I do not know how we could possibly stop the Minbari."

"We do not believe that the Minbari will risk a war with the League as well as the humans. There are too many of us. And even the Minbari respect the Yolu."

"The others races will never back us!"

"Perhaps, but the Minbari do not know that. Besides, the hope is that once they see other species standing alongside the humans, they will realize that they have misjudged the humans' value, and give them a chance to make amends. And don't forget that we, to, are an advanced race. Our capabilities are far in advance of what the humans have. But we need to hurry. The Minbari could attack Earth at any time. We need to get there as soon as possible, in order to be in position alongside the humans in their Line."

"We are making our best possible time. We have one concern. The beacon we are locked onto does not seem to be the same frequency as we have on record, and we are not detecting a gate, just a beacon."

"We know the humans have been playing with their beacons in order to slow the Minbari advance. A dangerous game, but not unexpected. If they have shut down their gate, we will just lock onto the beacon and use our jump drives to enter the system. Don't worry, they will welcome us when we get there."

"Certainly. Now all I have to worry about is being destroyed by the Minbari."

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Elizabeth Levy sat on the porch of a farmhouse deep in the French countryside. She was so tired, she just wanted to sleep. But instead she would just take a fifteen minute break and then go back to trying to coordinate her remaining ground forces, which were rapidly being decimated by the Minbari in orbit. In the week since the Battle of the Line had failed, the Minbari had only tried to land their ground forces three times, and received a bloody nose each time. But the forces which had repulsed them had in turn been completely destroyed by those damned invincible cruisers in orbit. Now, that kind of resistance was ending. Her forces were in chaos, and the Minbari were systematically destroying anything and everything that had anything to do with resistance.

A few days ago something had sent the Minbari into a fury, and they increased the rate of bombardment while also broadening their targeting parameters to include more civilian infrastructure. She hoped that it was the escape of the Exodus fleet, but they had lost deep space sensors, so she really had no way to be certain. They _had_ detected a massive explosion around Mars, so it was just possible that John Sheridan's wild gamble had worked and he dealt the Minbari another sucker punch. The odds of that weren't high, though, and she chose not to engage in wishful thinking. Of course, just trying to hold out was wishful thinking. She didn't know how much longer this refuge would remain hidden.

The farmhouse sat atop a bunker buried five hundred meters below the French countryside. It was designed to resist WMDs, but she doubted it would hold up to Minbari weaponry. She really shouldn't be on the surface, but she just had to get away for a moment, and who was going to tell the President no? At least their communications were secure. They were routing all comm traffic through the ancient internet backbone which still crisscrossed the world. Those cables had degraded over the centuries, but they had been built well, and were still at least somewhat functional. Enough for limited communications. And there was no way the Minbari would ever consider that they might be using something so primitive. The thing was practically a semaphore, for goodness sake!

Her Chief of Staff rushed out onto the porch. "Madame President, you need to see this."

He began to set up a small video display, and she now felt guilty for having left the bunker, where he would not have to go to such lengths. "What's going on George?" she said, curious despite her fatigue.

He turned to look directly at her. "A Vree fleet just jumped into High Earth Orbit. The Minbari are in a tizzy."

She was stunned. "A relief fleet? They said they wouldn't risk helping us."

"I'm not sure what else they could be. The Minbari are moving to challenge them. They are broadcasting in the clear to ease communication, so we may be able to listen in."

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Milashi Voktal stared at the displays, stunned. They had not emerged near Io, as expected, but directly into Earth orbit. They were completely surrounded by a Minbari fleet numbering in the high hundreds of ships. The Earth Force fleet was so much rubble drifting through the orbitals. And Earth itself...Earth burned. The Minbari were repositioning their fleet into an offensive formation. They were too late. They were too late.

"The Minbari are hailing us," notified the Vree on Communications duty.

Milashi froze. The future of the Vree might depend on the next several minutes. What would he do? What _could_ he do?

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"We're getting something." The static on the vid cleared up, to reveal a split screen image with a Vree bridge on the right, and a trio of Minbari on the left. She felt that she might have known the Vree standing in the middle of the Bridge, but it was so hard to tell with them. The three Minbari were a youngish female flanked by a pair of much older males. They were wearing grey robes. Might this be the mysterious grey council which they knew so little about? By this point, several more of her command staff had joined them on the porch, and she felt another moment's guilt for drawing them out.

The female in the middle spoke, and oddly enough, she used English. "The Minbari see you, and we would like very much to know why you are here," she said in a mild tone of voice. "I greet you in this language because we know you understand it. Are you perhaps here to defend the humans?"

"No, of course not," the Vree responded through a translator program. Elizabeth heard a murmur of both surprise and disappointment escape from many of those around her. She heard someone behind her ask softly why the Vree would use language cards if they had translation software. Another responded that it was probably one of their crazy and excessive pranks. Elizabeth could only agree to that, the Vree loved their practical jokes, but she shushed sharply for silence, as the alien conversation was continuing.

"But you have very close trade ties with the humans," the female Minbari pressed. "They very nearly became part of the League of Non Aligned Worlds. It is said that the Vree are some of the Humans' best friends. Surely you are here for them?"

"No, the Vree came to observe."

The male on the left spoke up. "It was the humans who rescued your species from the Dilgar, was it not? Saved you from extinction? Fought next to you to push back those you feared? It seems...unlikely...that you are not here for them."

The Vree was looking desperate now. Elizabeth almost felt sorry for him. And then he replied. "The humans….the humans are arrogant. Conceited. Abrasive. Always throwing their weight around and believing they are justified, in the right." Elizabeth heard someone behind her ask if he was describing humans or Centauri. Another called the Vree a bastard. "The Vree…," continued the desperate alien, "the Vree have no love for them. We...we can barely stand them. I told you, we are here to…"

"To observe," spoke up the third Minbari, tallest of the three. "Yes, we heard you. How fortunate for you that you came just in time to watch us finally end the humans coordinated resistance." There were murmurs of dismay and worried glances all around her at that statement. What could he mean? He continued. "But let us get to the heart of the real problem, shall we? You do not need over five hundred ships to 'observe.' Do you think the Minbari could not see through such an absurd lie? You brought a battle fleet, hundreds of warships, and you expect us to believe that you are not here to fight? You came to kill Minbari. You are just terrified because you thought there would be humans here to protect you!"

"No! That's not true." The Vree had a pretty good poker face, but to Elizabeth's eye he looked terrified. "We...we hate the humans. They have proven themselves to be no better than the Dilgar. Didn't they attack you unjustly?" At these words there was near silence all around her, except for her Chief of Staff quietly saying _that Son of a Bitch_ , mostly to himself. The silence was broken by the thunder of a finger of green fire, spearing down from the heavens and striking less than a kilometer away. The roar was interspersed by panicked screaming as the beam swept directly towards them.

But, the Vree was still speaking. "We brought a warfleet because we...we are here to offer our assistance. The humans are no better than the Dilgar. They are violent and aggressive and barbaric. Kill them all." As Elizabeth heard the Vree repudiate humanity for the third time, a cock crowed, perhaps confused by the sudden appearance of the blinding light from the heavens. And then the beam arrived, and swept the animal, the President, and all hope away.

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 **Hyperspace, Exodus Fleet - September, 2248**

General Robert Lefcourt felt like he was losing all hope. He sat in his bunk and downed a spacer's bulb of single malt scotch. He blinked away unshed tears, so he could stare again at his vid-screen, which was looping the few videos he had of his wife and daughter. Well, ex-wife. A military career was hard on a marriage, and theirs hadn't lasted.

He didn't mind the watery eyes. It was better than red and gritty, which they had been more and more lately. In the week since their escape from the Sol system, he had struggled to keep the fleet running through the chaos of integration and flight. It had been one emergency after another, and he hadn't gotten more than two, maybe three hours sleep in a row in that entire time. He had to admit that part of that was the fact that he didn't _want_ to sleep, because that was when the dreams came, and the guilt he couldn't escape.

He had begged Janice to come to Mars, and bring little Sally. He had gotten permission to tell them about the fleet, and procured seats for them both. But Janice had refused. She wanted to be with her family, and not him. There was no way she was letting go of Sally. And so now they were probably both dead, and all he had left of them were some stupid vids, and it was all his fault because he couldn't be bothered to be a proper husband. He grabbed another bulb of scotch and drank that to. He really should be sleeping now, but he just couldn't. He had to be back on duty soon anyway. There was always more to do.

His eyes alighted on the pearl handled slug thrower that idiot Jankowski had been playing with when he had brought the man back into the fold. When the man hadn't answered his repeated knocks, he had glanced in the window to see him with the gun against his head, repeatedly cocking the hammer and pulling the trigger. Robert had almost panicked, and had run back to the door and kicked the thing in, in time to see Jankowski pull the trigger one more time and then drop the weapon to the floor.

That had been at least five, maybe six pulls. When Robert had examined the weapon, he had found five out of the six chambers contained rounds. The idiot didn't even know how to play Russian Roulette properly. Clearly either the gun was defective or the bullets were. Why would the man be playing suicide games with a nonfunctional weapon? Was he seeking attention? Was it therapeutic is some way? Cathartic?

God, he could use some catharsis right about now. He drank yet another bulb of scotch, and made a note that he needed to stop. His supplies wouldn't last forever, and he really needed to be back on duty in the next few minutes. Hell, someone was likely to come seeking his input at any moment. He kicked off from his bunk and drifted across the room to where the gun was secured to the wall. He wasn't quite sure why he had chosen the bring the thing along. Maybe it was meant to be a reminder of Jankowski, and to not make the same kinds of foolish mistakes as that man. Jankowski was dead now, and hopefully he had died bravely in the Line, but Robert had his doubts.

Robert unstrapped the gun and stared at it, then back at the screen, where his daughter was building a sandcastle on one of their rare trips to the beach. Catharsis. Maybe it would help. He opened the cylinder and extracted four of the five shells. At least _he_ knew how the damned game was supposed to be played. It was time that he got back to duty. No rest for the weary, but he could take a few seconds for his own mental health.

The rattle when he spun the cylinder, and the heavy ratcheting feel of drawing the hammer back were actually rather comforting, in a visceral sort of way. _This is stupid,_ he thought. _How could this possibly help?_

At that moment he heard a knock at his door, and Commander Sinclair's voice say, "Sorry to wake you, General. Could we have a word?"

It seemed that duty called. Back to work. Already thinking of the thousand and one things he needed to do during his next duty shift, he kicked off towards his door to welcome in the Commander, absent mindedly placing the gun against his head and pulling the trigger.

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When the strange bark of sound penetrated the door, Jeff Sinclair turned to his new friend Garibaldi and asked, "What the hell was that?" Then, turning back to the door without awaiting an answer he called out, "General? General Lefcourt?"

Garibaldi answered him anyway. "Ohhh hell! If that's what I think it was…" Shouldering the Commander out of the way, he entered his security override into the keypad by the door. The door slid open onto a scene from hell. A fine red mist pervaded the room, interspersed with larger red droplets and chunks of….of flesh and human hair. It was all floating chaotically around the room in the zero grav conditions. As the mist contacted the walls, it slowly began to paint them red. They noted an archaic weapon drifting one direction across the room, and in the other… in the other direction drifted the body of General Robert Lefcourt, much of the side of his head missing.

Behind him, through a red tinged vid-screen, they saw a smiling little girl saying "I love you, Daddy!" next to a woman who was clearly her mother. A larger gobbet of blood struck the screen and obscured her face.

Michael turned to Sinclair, and could think of only one thing to say. "What the hell do we do now?!"


	5. Chapter 4 - Crumbling Structures

Chapter 4 - Crumbling Structures

 **Hyperspace, just beyond the Cooke system, Exodus Fleet - September, 2248**

The small conference room near the shuttle bay was already crowded when John Sheridan came in. Looking around at the assembled Captains (none of whom, besides himself, actually held the rank), he wondered again what madness would have caused General Lefcourt to call an in person meeting in the middle of a hyperspace transit, while they were all doing their best to tamp down on all of the myriad problems which were continually arising, while also keeping the fleet moving forward at top speed. They were running for their lives, after all. There had, as yet, been no sign of Minbari pursuit, but they couldn't count on that to continue. What could possibly be so important that it couldn't be handled via comm? Having them all gathered here aboard the Midway invited disaster.

And where the hell was Lefcourt anyway? The man had called this assembly. The least he could do was not be late to his own meeting.

As John found his seat, Commander Sinclair stood up. "We're all here now, so we can begin."

John broke in with annoyance, "We're still missing the General. Isn't he coming?"

"I'm afraid the General won't be coming," Garibaldi interrupted. "Jeff will be running the meeting."

As all eyes swiveled back to Sinclair, he cleared his throat. "I know you are all busy, so I will try to be brief. But this information is both critical and highly sensitive." He paused, and then held up a remote. "There's no gentle way to do this." He hit a button on the remote, and the large display dominating the wall behind him lit up. There was a collective gasp from the room as the gruesome image now displayed registered on the occupants. "Just over seven standard hours ago, just after we completed our exit from Cooke, General Lefcourt took his own life."

Silence reigned. In a larger group, John would have expected side conversations to break out as people couldn't stop themselves from speculating about what had happened, and what would happen next. This group, however, held itself in stony silence, staring with cold eyes at Sinclair.

Jeff cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We hadn't really had time to plan for this contingency, but Earth Force has standard protocols. I don't see why we wouldn't follow the book as usual. That having been said, I have already made the preparations to transfer General Lefcourt's command codes to Captain Sheridan, so that he may assume overall command. We must next discuss…"

Lochley broke in, interrupting Sinclair's point. "And why would we do that, Commander?"

"Commander?" Jeff asked in confusion. "Because protocol dictates that command should pass to either the highest ranking officer, or barring that the designated Senior Captain. In both cases this is Captain Sheridan. Command protocol is clear…"

"I can't agree, Commander, "Lochley broke in again. Turning to look at Sheridan, she continued, "No offense, John, but the only reason for either your rank or your designated position was because you got lucky against the Minbari and made a name for yourself." Holding up her hands to forestall any angry response, she added, "Now don't get me wrong, it was a brilliant move, for a desperation play. But we both know there were a million ways it could have gone wrong, and some of our data indicates that it shouldn't have worked at all, that Sharlins should be more than tough enough to take the damage those nukes delivered at that range, that something else must have been going on. I've heard arguments that the Minbari must have made a mistake, something like Beatty's Battlecruisers at the Battle of Jutland leaving their safety doors open, with cordite stocked in the halls. Damage that should normally have been inconsequential leading to catastrophic destruction.

"I'm not trying to take anything away from you, John. It really was a brilliant move. But we are talking about taking command of what may be all that is left of humanity. That leaves no room for mistakes, and having been married to you, I know that you can be more than a little impulsive."

Sheridan grimaced, then asked sarcastically, "You thought I might find that offensive, Liz? Whatever for?"

Sinclair cut in, "Did you have an alternate suggestion, Commander Lochley?"

Elizabeth frowned. "I don't know. I just don't think we should transfer command to John. Remember what General Lefcourt said? The Nova would almost certainly be thrown away the first time we got into a real fight with the Minbari. We can't afford to transfer command more than once."

Garibaldi looked thoughtful as he said, "We could transfer Captain Sheridan to the Midway. Transfer Captains around, or promote someone to fill his position."

Sheridan finally spoke up. "Absolutely not. The crews are too green, under too much stress, and the situation is too chaotic. We simply cannot afford to shake up the command staff any more than we absolutely have to."

Commander Levitt spoke up. "There are a number of historical precedents of alternative methods for selecting a Commanding Officer in an emergency: Flag Captain, most experienced Flag Officer, or direct assignment by Civilian Command Authority all come to mind."

Bester broke in, "Most experienced? Well...clearly I have the most life experience of anyone in this room. I'd be happy to take command."

Garibaldi snorted. "In your dreams, Mr. Bester."

"It's Commander Bester, Lieutenant Commander Garibaldi. Please, we're all on the same side. Besides, what's the other alternative. Flag Captain?"

All eyes slid to Gideon, who blushed and said defensively, "I wouldn't be the worst choice."

Bester continued with a smile, ignoring Gideon's statement, "And as you know, Civilian Command Authority was left behind on Earth, if it even still exists at all at this point. Our charter places the fleet under martial law until we have found safe haven, so there IS no Civilian Command Authority."

Garibaldi barked back, "The suggestion was for the Flag Officer with the most experience _being_ a Flag Officer."

Lochley broke in, "But that just swings the nomination back to John, which I still can't agree with. Perhaps we should consider command via this, what we are doing right now; a Council of Captains."

"This isn't a democracy," Sheridan snapped. "You can't run a military force via committee! We'd be overrun while we squabble about what to do about it."

"Look," she replied, "Everyone here acknowledges your skill at fighting the Minbari. I propose that in any combat situation, we all respect your rank and defer to your command. Beyond that, each of our ships generally has it's own role to play. Each of us, then, will take full authority of our own vessels and of the role that vessel plays. But, when it comes to fleet wide decisions like destination and diplomacy then, until we can resolve the question of command, we make decisions as a council."

Sheridan growled, "That's ridiculous. The command progression is clear. What you are trying to pull here, Liz, is frankly mutiny."

Garibaldi put up his hands, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's take a step back here, folks. We can't afford to put ourselves in the position of fighting each other. Too much is riding on our making this work!"

"Got any suggestions, Michael?" Sinclair asked.

"Well, since people seem to want to turn the military into a democracy, how about we take a vote? If enough of us back Sheridan, then the point is moot, he'll take every vote anyway. So, why don't we take a vote on passing command to Captain Sheridan? Maybe elect him Super Admiral or something? All those if favor?" he asked raising his hand. Sheridan and Sinclair both raised their hands.

"Opposed?" barked Lochley, and she, Bester, and Levitt raised their hands. All eyes turned towards Gideon.

"I choose to withhold my vote at this time, due to lack of sufficient information," Gideon stated defensively.

Lochley looked around the assembled officers. "Then the motion fails. Sorry, John. But, since we have already taken a vote, we clearly now have a functioning democracy. Or rather, a Republic, since we are the only ones who get a vote. Thank you for making that official, Lieutenant Commander," she said, nodding at Garibaldi, who scowled at the way he had been out maneuvered.

Sinclair cleared his throat. "That having been settled for the time being, before we disperse we need to decide a couple more things. First off, there is the question of our intended course. Lefcourt was considering three destinations. Heading coreward for former Dilgar space or Orieni space, or heading rimward and moving past the Ch'lona and Koulani into uncharted space. We are already headed coreward, as the General did not favor the last option."

Gideon spoke up, "I wouldn't want to head into completely unchartered space, where we would be slowed to a crawl, with two hostile powers at our backs and the Minbari not all that far off." When his statement drew nods from the assembled, he continued, "Perhaps we could just continue coreward for now, at least until we get out of Earth Alliance space, and then decide between the final two choices at that time."

Sinclair piped in, "Seems like a good idea to me. So moved. All in favor?" The vote was unanimous. "So decided. Finally, we need to decide whether or not to release the news of the General's passing."

"You mean the fact that he blew his own brains out?" quipped Lochley. "No. Even I can see that the news would only cause chaos in the fleet. Despite what I just did, we can't afford to have the civilians questioning our authority, or demanding a role in the decision making process. We need to keep up a pretense that the General is alive, but just too busy to be contacted. At least for now."

Sheridan looked ready to make a caustic remark, but Sinclair cut him off. "All in favor?" Every hand went up. "Then the motion passes."

And with that, the first Council of Captains adjourned.

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Dr. Stephen Franklin sat in one of the Olympic's many cafeterias, and finished up a surprisingly tasty plate of Swedish meatballs. The seven other doctors sharing the table with him also ate their meals, but mostly in a somewhat strained silence. They were all from Mars, hospital and clinic administrators and head physicians, and had been given no choice in being brought aboard. Stephen was trying to get their help in organizing the medical workers from Mars, so that they might be a productive addition to the fleet. However, they were less than enthusiastic. Dr. Amal Torres had asked him flatly why she should lift a finger to aide kidnappers and captors, who had left the people who depended upon them behind to die.

While the conversation had indeed been tense, Stephen had slowly gotten them to see that he was only asking them to fulfill their oaths, to serve the citizens of Mars and humanity in general, and giving them something to do with the rest of their lives. He very definitely did NOT mention the fact that he had been given the authority to cut off their food stipend if they did not comply. He felt such heavy handed tactics were beneath him, and would certainly not gain him the respect of these people. The fact that he was the youngest person at the table certainly didn't help either. Besides, he knew he could get them to come around, and offering the carrot rather than the stick would make future interactions much more productive. By the time they were finished eating, they had agreed to at least facilitate the organization of the medical staff pulled from Mars. It was a start, and Stephen was confident everything else would fall into place moving forward.

He was shaking the hands of the other physicians, and wishing them well, when he heard the commotion break out at the front of the room. A man was standing at the counter, one arm in a sling, and angrily demanding, "Just give us some food!"

The outburst drew the eyes of many of the diners, and caused grumbling in the long line of people waiting their turn for food. None of this appeared to register with the worker taking payment at the head of the line. "Look, you piece of Mars trash, no food chit, no food! Now why don't you get the hell out of here, so decent folks can eat in peace?"

"We never got any food chits, you bigot! What are we supposed to do, starve? Did you just kidnap us to watch us die?"

Stephen made eye contact with the nervous looking physicians, apologized, and said, "Please excuse me. I'm going to try to resolve this." He then walked towards the altercation, surreptitiously activating his comm unit and contacting security. "Send a couple of officers to Cafeteria 10, forward sector. I think we may have trouble brewing." He hurried his steps, hoping to head off trouble.

"...it's all a damned plot by you Earthers to kill off all Mars citizens!"

And that damned cafeteria worker wasn't helping things at all. "You know, now that you mention it, that does sound like a great idea."

Franklin saw someone on the far side of the Marsie reach around him and tug at his shoulder, and a voice say, "Come on, Gary. Let's just get out of here. I'm sure we'll be issued food chits once we check in properly."

Good advice, Franklin thought, hoping the man would take it. Instead, he shrugged off the arm angrily, and turned to the crowd, shouting, "They won't feed Mars citizens! They're trying to starve us!"

The words electrified the room. A lot of those in line seemed to be from Mars, and they pushed forward, shouting angrily. Others throughout the room also became agitated, and he heard more than one person shout out, "Sit down, you Mars scum!" or, "then starve, Marsie!"

Franklin finally got there, and planted himself between the cafeteria worker and the Marsie. He raised his hands and shouted, "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Everybody just calm down." This seemed to cause the commotion in the room to die down a bit, and he pressed forward hopefully. Looking the man from Mars directly in the eye, he said, "Sir, no one is going to starve. I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding. I'm don't know why you weren't checked in a week ago, but things have been pretty chaotic. They just started enforcing the food chit policy, so I'm sure there are probably quite a few people in the same position you are. Why don't you let me cover your meal, and afterwards I can help you get checked in and issued the proper food chits."

He smiled at the man, and glanced to his right, which was a huge mistake. Standing next to the man was the single most enchanting creature he had ever seen. Tall, blonde, and beautiful, she was as close to perfection as Stephen could imagine. Even the incongruous shiner, purpling her right eye and just starting to fade, didn't really detract from her allure. Stephan had always believed the phrase "took my breath away" to be no more than a metaphor. It was therefore with some surprise that he found he had to force himself to take a breath. Giving the beauty a large, goofy grin, he finally remembered where he was and turned his smile back to the man...just in time to see the man's left fist, his right arm being in a sling, smashing into his jaw.

Franklin's vision went blurry as his head snapped back, and he felt himself falling backwards. He thought he heard the blonde shout, "Gary!" and some sort of swelling roar from the room around him. And then the back of his head smacked into the corner of the food counter, and his vision tunneled down to a point.

The next thing he knew, he felt himself being dragged across the floor. He had a hard time opening his eyes, and an even harder time getting his thoughts together. Looking around, he saw the entire room engulfed in a surging brawl, with tables and chairs and food stuffs being used as weapons and shields. He heard himself giggle and say, "Food fight," and then resume giggling. He bumped up against a wall and the dragging sensation stop. The person who had been dragging him suddenly loomed over him. It was the blonde. Some deeply buried part of his psyche was mortified to hear himself say, "Yer pretty," and then resume giggling.

She seemed to ignore the comment, instead saying, "You're not doing well, Officer. There's a lot of blood coming out of your head. You need a doctor."

That sent him into a fresh bout of giggling, until he managed to gasp out, "Am a doctor...prolly fine...scalp wounds...bleed lots blood." From the look on her face, that didn't seem to reassure her at all. He just smiled up at her happily. And then security stormed to room.

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 **Sirius system, Exodus Fleet - September, 2248**

The Sirius jumpgate activated and began disgorging civilian ships. Almost simultaneously, four additional jump points blossomed, each separated from the others by a safe margin. From the new jump points exited the Midway, Eratosthenes, Nova, and Mother, each followed by it's own bevy of civilian craft. The Lexington would be the final ship to enter the system, guarding their tail in hyperspace.

Captain John Sheridan looked over at his First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Laurel Takashima. "Open comms to the local System Governor."

"Governor Frederic Rozz is already messaging us, Captain." Takashima said with some surprise. The signal is coming from the Sirius Transfer Station.

"Hmmm. Transfer com to my station." At the LC's nod, he hit a button, and the face of a rather large and florid man appeared on his screen. "Gov…" Sheridan began, but was cut off as the Governor Rozz spoke right over the top of him.

"Thank God! Where have you been! Our defensive garrison was stripped away weeks ago. We've been seeing signs of the Minbari for nearly that entire time. They could be here any minute! Admiral, you are to take your fleet and immediately assume a defensive stance above the colony! Then please arrange transport for me back to Earth. I must...consult...with Earth Dome. I will require a military escort, of course.

Sheridan held back a sigh. "This is Captain John Sheridan. I'm sorry, Governor, but this is not a relief fleet. It is an evacuation fleet. I am sorry to advise you that Earth has fallen."

"Impossible!"

Sheridan overrode the man, wanting to get the distasteful task over as quickly as possible. "Governor, we will not be staying. We have some room on board our vessels. If you would please, order an evacuation of the Mining Outpost and Transfer station. All space capable vessels should join the fleet, and anyone who does not fit can be transferred to our civilian vessels. We need to hurry if the Minbari are indeed close."

"Never! You want me to flee into space on some barge? Give up my colony? I was assigned this colony. It's important. It cannot be allowed to fall to the enemy!" His beady eyes shifted around, as though seeking out some new angle to play. "You said Earth had fallen? Then Civilian Command Authority must shift to me, as a duly appointed member of the Executive. I hereby order you to immediately take up a defensive position around my colony!"

Sheridan bit back a curse. "I'm sorry, Governor, but my orders come directly from the President and Earth Dome. This fleet is under Martial Law, under the authority of General Lefcourt."

Rozz jumped at the name, "I demand to speak to the General immediately. I won't be dictated to by some jumped up Lieutenant with delusions of godhood. If Earth is gone then I hold the full authority of the Executive in this system! Put me through to Lefcourt now, or I will have your Court Martialed!"

Sheridan hit a button, disconnecting the Governor's comm signal. He then sent a comm to the Midway. There were three members of the Captains Council there. If he could get their agreement he could proceed, and do so without making it look to the crew like he was taking a damned vote.

"Sinclair here," came the voice from the screen.

"Commander Sinclair. I don't suppose you were listening to our communication with the Governor."

"I was. The man is clearly off his rocker."

"I'm planning to go around the man. Any thoughts?"

"You don't think we should send in troops and remove the obstacle?" Sinclair didn't even hesitate at the suggestion of removing the civilian authority, which only proved how serious the situation had gotten.

"I don't think we can afford the time. Governor Rozz mentioned signs of the Minbari. He's probably just jumping at shadows, but if there is any possibility it is true, we cannot allow the fleet to be caught here. We should take the bulk of the fleet back into hyperspace, while I give those civilians with the means a chance to join us."

Sheridan could tell that Sinclair knew he was being asked for support. The Commander made eye contact with someone off screen, and then said, "Gideon and Garibaldi said to give 'em hell." That meant four of the Captains supported his plan, and he could proceed.

He allowed the others to get the fleet moving again. He had his own work to do. "Takashima, open a general broadcast to the entire system." At her nod, he spoke to every civilian in the Sirius system. "This is Captain John Sheridan. The fleet currently inhabiting the Sirius system is an evacuation fleet. Earth has fallen. Please load up any and all space capable vessels to maximum occupancy, and come and join the fleet. We have the supplies to maintain our population for at least a year. We are heading out into space, looking for refuge. We will remain in system for the next several hours, to give anyone who can an opportunity to join us. That is all."

He disconnected to comm, and silence reigned on the bridge. Takashima cleared her throat. "Captain, that's...that's going to cause some serious problem on the colony. We're likely to see riots to make what happened on Mars seem tame."

"I know, Laurel," Sheridan said softly, "but Rozz pretty much tied our hands."

"Shouldn't…" She hesitated, then continued cautiously. "Shouldn't that be General Lefcourt's decision?"

"He left this one in my hands," Sheridan said stiffly. Takashima nodded in acquiescence, but Sheridan continued, "One more thing, Lieutenant Commander."

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure Governor Rozz _isn't_ on any of the ships which join the fleet."

And with that they watched as the system devolved into chaos.

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"Well, Zack old boy, you ready for this?" Garibaldi asked his new deputy, grabbing a tray of warm food and a glass of water off of the table. He motioned Zack to follow him, and then walked down corridor of the security office, to the detention center.

"You wanna be good cop or bad cop, boss?"

"Zack, I just hired you, and you already think you can play good cop, bad cop with me? Pfft. Yeah. Just sit quietly and look serious." With that he punched a passcode into the door of one of the cells and stepped through, Zack following him in. "Thought you might be hungry," he called out to the occupant, setting the tray and glass on the small table in the center of the cell. Three chairs had been placed around the table, and Garibaldi sank into one of them, and Zack took the other next to him, leaving the final chair on the opposite side of the table from them.

The sole occupant of the cell rose slowly to her feet. "Thanks, I am hungry, since you've had me locked up in here for at least a day with nothing but water. But I'd rather just get out of here."

"You're not going anywhere yet. I apologize for the lack of food. My team's new, and they haven't quite figured out all of their duties yet. Eat up, while it's still warm," he said, motioning to the plate.

"I haven't done anything!"

"Miss Holloran, you were caught in the middle of a Marsie riot, instigated by allegations of attempted genocide by starvation of the people of Mars. Allegations made by a man who has been definitively linked to you. The exact nature of that link is as yet unknown, but seems to reside somewhere between wife and girlfriend. This man has also been definitively identified as having assaulted an Earth Force officer in the process of doing his duty to quell said allegations."

Tessa sighed and sat down, taking the cover off of the food and beginning to eat.

"There you go," he said with a small smile. He waited for a few moment while she ate, and then asked, "So, care to tell us your role in the riot?"

She swallowed and replied, "Look, all I did was drag Officer Doctor out of harm's way, then flag down security because he was bleeding like a stuck pig."

"Officer Doctor?"

"I never caught his name."

"Ahhh. It's Franklin. Stephen Franklin. Lieutenant Commander in Earth Force, and Chief Medical Officer for this whole cockamamie fleet."

"Well, I was concerned that Lieutenant Franklin…"

"Lieutenant Commander," he interrupted her.

"...that Lieutenant Commander Franklin might be seriously injured. He just tried to do the right thing, and didn't deserve that. And I didn't know Gary was going to start a riot. I tried to stop him to, but clearly wasn't very successful."

"And why should I believe your story miss Holloran?"

"Because it's the truth? Or how about because I saw at least a half dozen security cameras in that place, and you've probably got the whole thing from four different angles.

"Five actually," he said pulling out a thick file and flipping through some paperwork in it. "I've been checking your records. No major criminal infractions. A couple of run-ins with the laws for the kind of stuff kids get into, but you were able to talk your way out of those. Your father was a cop, and your family name is somewhat prominent on Mars. Makes you a bit of a princess, doesn't it? Being ripped away from your home and your own personal kingdom, that's enough to make someone bitter, maybe try to make trouble for the local authority."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I knew your old man. He was a bit rough around the edges, but honest cops always are. He wouldn't be happy to see you sitting here."

"You don't know anything about my father."

"I know he paid for you to go to that fancy school, where you met Boy Wonder and had those run-ins with the local cops. Was he happy about that?"

"No," she ground out angrily.

"You know what, maybe you're not striking out at the people who abducted you. Maybe you're still just rebelling against Daddy."

Tessa sat up straight in her chair, her meal forgotten. "Do you have anything productive to ask, Officer?"

"It says here you spent two summers interning in your father's precinct, where you were trained in firearms usage, and scored quite high on the local range. Is that correct?"

"Yes," she said cautiously, uncertain where this line of questioning was going.

"My records also indicate that you carried both a 4.0 GPA and perfect attendance throughout both High School and what college you have completed so far. Is that also correct?"

"Yes," she said with more than a little confusion.

Garibaldi pulled a sheet of paper from his folder and spun it around to face her. There was a number circled in the middle in red. "And is this your current credit rating?"

"What?...Yes….What is this, a job interview?" She glanced at the other officer, hoping for some hint as to what was going on, but he looked just as confused as she felt.

"Sorry, wasn't I clear? Yes, yes it is. For the position of one of my Deputies. Congratulations, you're hired."

"What? I'm….what?"

"You are hired, Deputy Holloran," he said, pronouncing each word slowly and individually. "Look, recent events have shown that this fleet is going to have to figure out how to get along. The Marsies are causing trouble, and the civies from Earth aren't much better. So I'm bringing you on to keep an eye on the Marsies and other spacers, and Zack here to watch over the poor Earth babies. Meanwhile, I will sit back and enjoy myself while you two work yourselves to the bone. Damn, it's gonna be fun."

"Ummm, boss?" Zack started to ask, but Tessa regained control of herself and overrode him. "Why me?" she demanded.

"What, you mean aside from all of those wonderful answers you just gave me?"

"You have a whole fleet full of security personnel, GroPos, Marines, and military police. Not to mention a ton of former Mars Law Enforcement Personnel who were scooped up into this fleet. Every one of them is more qualified than I am."

"Good point. But, you have one thing that none of those people have. You're not tainted."

"Excuse me?"

"No need. You haven't done anything which needs excusing. That's the whole point. I need someone the people of Mars can trust. That excludes all of the military and civilian fleet personnel, for being your abductors. It also excludes any authorities and law enforcement personnel from Mars, both for trying to enforce to the Governor's edict by trying to prevent your escape, and for failing to do so and coming along. Which means I have very few candidates. And I also need someone I can trust."

"And what makes you think I can be trusted?

"Your file. Your answers. My gut. And glowing endorsements from Stephen Franklin and some cadet named Susan Ivanova, both of whom have been down, asking that you be released."

"Alright. Now we've established why you need me. Why would I even want the job?"

"Because your father made you believe in law and order? Because you want to do what's best for the people of Mars, and you know that means surviving in this fleet. Or how about because you're stuck. I'm not sure if you were planning on sticking with the Boy Wonder, but right now he is telling everyone who will listen, pretty much just his cell mates, that he has broken it off with, and I quote here, 'that traitor bitch.' I'm going to have to release him eventually. At which point you're either going to have to be making a name for yourself as the face of Mars's future, or have your name dragged through the mud and end up just as separated from your people as you feel from the rest of us."

Tessa sighed again. "I hope the pay is at least good."

"We're under Martial Law, remember? The pay is entirely non-existent. The hours are ridiculously long. But, at least the food sucks."

She had a good poker face. She didn't smile at all. "So at least I get food chits?"

"As many as you want. Well, sufficient to feed yourself and supplement a few others. Several others if you're conservative about it. Aside from that," he said, standing up, "the only real perk is that you occasionally get to hit somebody, really hard. Oh, and of course you can hit Zackie here for free, any time you want." With that he walked out.

The moment he was through the door, he heard Zack say, a smirk in his voice, "Just don't aim for the face, Sweetheart." This was followed by a meaty thud and the whoosh of all the air leaving Mr. Allan's lungs. Garibaldi smiled. _I guess she took the job._

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Alfred Bester wandered the halls of his ship, the Mother. There was a strange tingling at the base of his skull, and he knew for a fact that it was a telepathic signal. That wasn't exactly strange on a ship full of telepaths. It was the nature of the signal which was intriguing. It was so faint that he was certain only a P-12 would pick up on it. Like a background hum that most people couldn't hear. But on this ship there were a number of P-12s, and none of them had noticed a thing. Which meant that this signal had somehow been tuned specifically to him, for his 'ears' only.

He turned down another corridor, trying to home in on the signal, frustratingly just out of reach, out of focus in a way. He took a door, and found himself in the same large storage room he had already visited a half dozen times. He took a breath and looked around the apparently empty room. He pulled on his Psi-Cop persona, and thought about what he was seeing. The ship was hurting for space, with supplies stacked in the corridors, and some of the passengers even forced to hot bunk. Why would any storage room be left empty? He looked closely at the surroundings. And then he looked deeper. And then deeper still, reaching out with his mind as well as his senses, probing at the reality around him.

With a snap felt in the mind rather than heard in the room, the mental covers fell away from his mind, and he saw the room suddenly filled with furniture...a dining table here, a bedroom set there, even a kitchenette in the corner. The soft glow of electric lights coming from the displays on the appliances indicated that they were hooked up and functional, which meant that this room had been in place long before the fleet had launched.

A tall man with a very familiar face looked up at him from where he was sitting in a reclining chair. "It took you long enough, Al. I was starting to think I was going to have to leave you a trail of breadcrumbs."

"Assistant Director Drake? How are you here? You were supposed to be on Earth."

"Well, Director now, I suppose. And yes, the mundanes did everything they could to ensure none of the Psi-Corp leadership made it off of Earth. They tried to kill the Corp, Al. They thought by offering to let more telepaths live, we would be willing to let the Corp die. Never. We won't let that happen."

"Of course not," Bester agreed. "Is Director Johnston with you? The other Assistant Directors?"

"Come, come, Al. You know Johnston was never really one of us. He wasn't part of the family. As for the others, I'm afraid it's just me. We planned to all be here, but the mundanes really did do a surprisingly good job of keeping us all pinned down. I'm afraid our hopes rest of just you and me now, Al. They tried to kill the Corp, but we are going to bring it back. The Corp is Mother, the Corp is Father. Can I count on you, Al?"

"Of course, Director."

"You haven't gotten too comfortable being an Earth Force officer, have you? The allure is obvious; being a hero, savior of mankind, all of that."

"Working with a bunch of mundanes? No sir, I haven't gotten too comfortable. And all I really want is to be the savior of telepathkind."

"Good man, Al!" Drake said with a smile. "Now, it's time to roll up our sleeves. We've got work to do."


	6. Chapter 5 - We Few

Chapter 5 - We Few

 **Entering Orion system - Exodus Fleet - October, 2248**

Once again, a jump gate and four separate jump points flared as one, and began disgorging the fleet into normal space. The Orion system was one of the Earth Alliance's primary colonies, which made it a huge Minbari target. It also made it a huge source of humans, and the job of the Exodus fleet was to get humans out of the way of the Minbari juggernaut. So once again, they would try to get a System Governor to try to see reason.

Commander Jeffrey Sinclair was hopeful that this time would go better than the last couple. He had sent a squadron of Starfuries into the system in advance of the fleet, ensuring the system was still human held, and that the Minbari were not present. Now that the fleet was in system, his job was to ensure the Combat Space Patrol guarding the fleet was well organized and secure. He knew that the most practical way to do this was from his station on the Midway. But sometimes you just needed to feel space around you, and show the pups that the 'Old Man' still knew how to fly.

So it was that Commander Sinclair, Commander Star Fighter Group (a position still referred to as the CAG due to both a sense of tradition and a desire for easy pronunciation, just as the Combat Space Patrol was still referred to as the CAP) found himself strapped into a Starfury, with half a squadron guarding his back, flying up and down the line of the fleet. He spent more time on comms than actually flying, continually shuffling squadrons around, but at least he was out here, seeing things with his own eyes. "Red Alpha, you're drifting. Adjust heading zero zero three by zero one two."

"Roger Group Leader. Red Alpha adjusting course."

"Midway to Group Leader," came another voice out of his comms.

"Group Leader. Go ahead Midway."

"Most of the fleet has entered the system. Lexington will be coming through momentarily."

"Acknowledged, Midway. Group Leader out." Switching over to his squadron net, he said, "Ok, boys, let's go roll out the red carpet for Lady Lex." With that the squadron adjusted course and zoomed back towards the jump gate.

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Hours later, after the fleet was well in system and some of the lead elements had already entered orbit around Orion VII, Sinclair was still hard at it. He was now helping to direct the swarms of repair craft which had gone out. A number of the smaller civilian craft which had joined the fleet, shuttles and short haul transports, even some yachts, were already starting to have breakdowns. It wasn't unexpected, and they had brought plenty of spare parts. But, it was labor intensive, and also burned a good deal of fuel as repair craft shuttled to and fro, ministering to the distressed vessels. It also required a lot of direction and coordination, and Sinclair's voice was starting to go hoarse as he directed both repair craft and the CSP which was still out in force.

"Red Alpha Leader to Group Leader."

"Group Leader. Go ahead, Red Alpha."

"Sir, I may have gotten a whiff of something odd from that group of rogue asteroids at bearing three four seven by one six two."

"Care to be more specific, Red Alpha?"

"Barely a blip, sir. Maybe just a sensor ghost. Just being cautious."

"Caution is a good thing. Take your squad and check it out, Red Alpha Leader."

"Acknowledged."

While Red Alpha was closing in on the asteroids, Sinclair adjusted the rest of the CSP, making sure to cover the hole opened up by Red Alpha's new course.

Eventually Sinclair's comm chirped again. "Red Alpha Leader to Group Leader."

"Group Leader," he acknowledged. "Go ahead, Red Alpha."

"Looks like it was a wild goose chase, sir. There's nothing here, just…" His signal dissolved in a burst of static.

Sinclair was about to try signaling him when another voice blared excitedly over the comm, "Red Alpha 4 to all ships! We have a flight of Minbari fighters! Red Alpha Leader and Red Alpha 2 are…." The second signal also dissolved to static. Sinclair quickly brought up the tactical report on Red Alpha Wing, and winced as he saw that over half the squadron had already been blown out of the sky.

"Group Leader to all squadrons. Make for the jump gate, max thrust. Even Minbari fighters aren't jump capable. They'll have to use the jump gate to get out of the system. Stop them at all costs. It's possible they don't have the equipment to report on us from normal space. We have to stop them from passing on news of the fleet's location. Any means necessary. Group Leader out."

He received a chorus of acknowledgements, and then turned his own squadron towards the gate and kicked in maximum burn. He checked on Red Alpha again, and winced as he saw that only two Starfuries remained, both damaged, and that the Minbari had pulled away and were running for the jump gate. _Damn they're fast_ , he thought. Tracking their course he could see that Blue Epsilon squadron would get there ahead of the Minbari. Theta squadron would arrive at almost exactly the same time as the Minbari, but that was really just a flight, not a full squadron, which was all the Lexington could carry.

Given what those three Minbari fighters had done to Red Alpha, he was fairly certain that Blue Epsilon and Theta wouldn't be able to stop them from accessing the gate. Sinclair's squadron was the next closest group. But, given the distance, there was no way he could get there in time to join the furball and take out the Minbari before they could escape. But… It galled him, but maybe he could take a page from Jankowski's book.

When the navigation computer signaled him to switch over from acceleration to deceleration, he kept the engines redlined. Shortly, he received an inquiry from his second. "Sir, if we don't start decel we'll blow right past them."

"And if we do decel, by the time we get there they'll already be gone. No. We go in hot, full throttle. We line up for one pass. We'll come up on their six and punch through, firing everything we've got."

"Sir, they'll be in a furball with Theta and Epsilon. We'll be flying right down the throats of our own fighters. There'll be a good chance of a blue on blue hit."

Sinclair wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or weep. He had read the flight logs of the action which had put him in the hospital for months. It seemed that this time he was playing the bone head. And so he spoke his lines, "The formation will break under the Minbari assault. It always does, given their speed and our inability to lock onto them. Theta and Epsilon will be pushed out of formation, which will lessen the likelihood of such an incident. Besides, any means necessary."

On his screens he saw Blue Epsilon barely get into position before the Minbari hit them. They lost three Starfuries in the first five seconds. And then Theta arrived, replenishing their numbers, and the furball devolved into a street fight. Unfortunately, the Minbari were the big kids on the block, and three more Starfuries blew apart. At least their need to use the jumpgate forced the Minbari to come in close where their stealth was much less effective.

The jumpgate flared to life, the Minbari preparing to flee. As a parting act, they destroyed another couple of Starfuries. Not a one of the three had yet taken a scratch. Sinclair's rate of closure rapidly approached and then exceeded a kilometer per second, and the moment they gained visual contact with the furball his entire squadron opened fire with their Pulse cannons. They attempted to drag their streams of Pulser fire into the enemy fighters. In the barely three seconds between spotting and bursting through the enemy formation, Sinclair realized several things. First, upon seeing the tails of the Minbari fighters and the broken remains of Theta and Epsilon's formation, he understood that the attack had been perfectly positioned, and that this time there would be no accidental collision. A second after that he saw and visually locked onto a specific enemy fighter, and realized that his stream of Pulse cannon bursts would be on target for at least a couple of seconds; hopefully sufficient to deal with even Minbari armor and get him a kill. It was only in the very final second, when he saw not one, but all three Minbari fighters blow apart, that he realized he had been successful. They had stopped the Minbari. And he had Michael Jankowski to thank for it all.  
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 **Orion system - EAS Midway - October, 2248**

John Sheridan watched Jeff Sinclair glide into the room and take a station. The man had come directly from his Starfury, and looked absolutely exhausted. None of them in the room looked particularly well rested, but if it hadn't been for the zero-G, John would have been worried that Sinclair might have collapsed to the floor. But he didn't really have time to worry. Instead, he rapped his knuckles on the table and said, "Let's begin." The second meeting of the Council of Captains was underway. He gave everyone a couple of seconds to focus, and then asked Sinclair, "How bad is it?"

"We lost the better part of two full squadrons, but in the end we got the bastards. Complete loss of sixteen Starfuries. Five more down for repairs. In exchange, we took out three Minbari fighters….those Nials. That's a seven to one exchange rate, which is easily fifty percent better than we managed to do throughout the war. We've got Starfuries to spare in storage, but we were already light on trained pilots. Maintaining combat patrols is going to start putting a real strain on the crews."

Bester broke in. "What was the point? They were running away. If you had just let them, we wouldn't be down any pilots."

"I couldn't let them escape and potentially report us!"

"These are the Minbari, Commander," Bester said with exaggerated patience. "They almost certainly had Tachyon comms on board their craft."

"And if they didn't, we could prevent them from reporting our fleet position. It was worth the risk!"

"But was it worth the lives of your pilots?" Bester asked softly.

Sinclair clenched his teeth and ground out, "We all knew the risks when we signed up."

"Ahh, but as General Lefcourt pointed out, many of us didn't sign up for this mission. Many of us were shanghaied."

"That's enough," Sheridan barked. "Right or wrong, what's done is done. We're not going to start second guessing each other. The chain of command is screwy enough as it is. But, for the record," he said making eye contact with Sinclair, "I would have done exactly the same thing."

Jeff nodded his thanks, and then asked, "How is the evacuation going?"

Levitt spoke up. "Surprisingly well. For once we have a Governor who seems to know what she is doing. Governor Zane is a formidable woman. She was already anticipating an evacuation. Every viable craft from Orion IV, Orion VII, and Earth Colony 3 is headed here now, or will be shortly. She has already prioritized children for the evacuation….everyone under the age of 18, and mothers with babies. Unfortunately, given the population of the system, we don't have nearly enough seats to take everyone."

"How many do we have?" Gideon asked.

"Just over sixty thousand. We're going to have to whittle down the list of eligible candidates."

Garibaldi broke in. "What about all of those civilian ships? The ones coming and the ones already here. Most of them are privately held, and I doubt that they are all at maximum capacity. We could require that any ship coming with the fleet must take on passengers up to their maximum capacity. If they don't have the space they can just dump anything non-critical that they may have tried to bring along. For that matter, since we are restocking their consumables en route, they can ignore some of their life support limitations."

"Is anyone opposed to Michael's suggestion?" Sheridan asked. There was no dissent, so he continued, "We still won't have enough seats. I suggest we stick with Governor Zane's choice to bring the children. We should start with the oldest and then work our way down in age until we are out of seats."

"Shouldn't we start with the youngest? And their mothers?" Levitt argued.

"We don't have a surplus of caretakers. And if we bring their mothers, can we justify leaving the fathers behind? The more parents we take, the fewer children. Besides, we need people who will be ready to work when we get to wherever we are going. And, yes, start their own families as well. That means taking the oldest children. It's hard, but we need to maximize the survivors' chances of surviving." It was called to a vote, but in the end only Levitt and Gideon opposed starting with the oldest children. The meeting dispersed shortly afterwards.

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 **Leaving the Orion system - The Olympic - October, 2248**

"Damn, this place is getting crowded." Zack Allan was complaining again. Tessa hadn't worked with him all that often in the week since she had taken the job, but when she did he was inevitably complaining about something.

That's not surprising. I hear we pulled nearly an additional 100,000 people out of Orion."

"Well, we are officially full," he pronounced. "The air is already starting to taste kinda thin. We try to cram in any more people, we'll have to start storing them in the airlocks," he said with a grin.

"Not funny. This is the place." They were walking down one of the Olympic's sublevels, near the Engineering stations which serviced the main engines. The security station had received a message from one of the janitorial crew, insisting that security be sent down right away. But he had refused to say why over the comm. Garibaldi didn't have time to play those kinds of games, and since both Allan and she had been on board the Olympic, he had told them to look into it.

There was a large man standing up ahead, waving to them. He appeared to be of Samoan ancestry, and while neither Zack nor Tessa was the least bit short, he towered over them. It was a bit disconcerting to see someone that size looking so nervous.

"Are you the guy that called us?" Zack asked.

"Yes. My name is Manuia Faamoana. I clean up and do simple maintenance."

"So what's up?"

He looked very nervous, but motioned for them to follow him. He lead them down several corridors, into parts of the ship generally only used by Maintenance personnel. He stopped and indicated a side corridor. "Through there."

Giving the man a curious look, Zack stepped around the corner. "Oh, hell…."

Tessa joined him, stopping in shock. Three people had been nailed to the wall of the corridor, crucifix fashion. They were all dead, but the excessive blood from their wounds indicated that they had died in place. Their faces were also covered in blood, soaking the gags they were all wearing, from identical wounds to their foreheads. _Good God, were those drill holes?_

Tessa stepped back around the corner and threw up on the floor. She heard Allan gagging, but he managed to keep his lunch down.

"Hey, I have to clean that up, you know," Manuia said calmly.

Tessa wiped her mouth. "Sorry."

"It's ok. I did the same thing."

Zack stepped back around the corner. "Did you notice their hands?" he asked.

"What, you mean the fact they were nailed to the wall?"

"No. How they were nailed. Right through their standard issue gloves."

"Oh, hell. They're telepaths?"

"It would seem that way. I'm guessing that's why someone drilled into their heads; to keep them from calling out telepathically. Which means our perp knows an awful lot about telepaths." He activated his link and contacted Garibaldi. "Boss, you're gonna wanna see this."

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 **Altair system - EAS Midway - October, 2248**

The returning Starfuries were locked in and drawn into the hangar bay. Lieutenant Sheila McDonnell, otherwise known as Gold Alpha Leader, opened the comms to her wing, "Good job people."

Her wingman, Lieutenant JG Sofia Martinez in Gold Alpha 2, commed back, "Thanks, Boss. You up for a cold one?" Together the two of them were known as the S&Ms, and not just because of their initials.

"Sorry, Sof. I've got a date with my rack." Switching over to the local net, she commed the hanger Chief. "This is Gold Alpha squadron, returning. Request permission to pop hatches and deplane."

"Negative, Gold Alpha Leader. My orders are to do a quick refuel and replenish and get you back in the black ASAP."

It had been a long day, and Sheila just lost it. "Frag that noise! Do you know how long we've been in these tin cans! Check your orders, you've made a mistake!"

"No mistake Gold Alpha. You're needed on CSP. As I said, they want you out there now."

"Bullshit! My people just did a fourteen hour system insertion recon. We're the reason the fleet knew it was safe to pop in at all. We've done our part. My people are burnt and need some damned down time, cadet!" It was unfair of her, but the fact that the crew of the Midway were almost all pulled directly from the Academy was a sore spot for many of the other members of the crew, as well as an item of amusement and scorn from her counterparts on other vessels.

He handled the barb and the shouting surprisingly well. "Don't kill the messenger, Gold Alpha. The only other ship in position to provide a CAP right now is the Mother. And yes, Black Omega IS supposed to be on CAP right now. But Mother is having problems with her launchers, and they are working on them at best speed. That leaves the part of the fleet that is already in system without a CAP, until I get your butts back out there. Look, it shouldn't be for much more than an hour. Maybe less. I know it sucks LT, but that's the job."

Cursing, Sheila switched back over to the squadron net. "Hold up people."

"What's going on, boss?" Gold Alpha 4, Ensign Robert Anders, asked.

"We're needed on patrol." Her pronouncement was met by a chorus of groans and curses. "I know folks, I know. But the fleet needs us, and it will hopefully just be another hour."

That was met with more grumbling, but she knew her people would get the job done. She saw that the hanger Chief was comming her. "Yes, Chief. What wonderful news do you have for me now?"

"I'm reading bad induction coils on a couple of your birds. We're going to pressurize the hanger and do a hot swap. It will take about five to ten minutes, so if you want to get out and breath some less stale air, you've got a bit."

"Roger, that," she said, with some gratitude. "Sorry about the cadet jab." Seeing the external pressure readings coming up to normal, she commed the squad. "Take five, squad. They've pressurized the bay, so you can pop seals and stretch."

She put action to her words by exiting her Starfury. She popped her helmet seal, and inhaled the hanger air, which only drove home how much she truly stank at this point. Damn. She was going to need to vibe clean before she racked out. Performing a series of stretches she watched as the fresh faced hanger crew, _and who'd have thought cadets could actually get the job done_ , raced around the hanger, leaping across the zero-G bay, dragging metal fuel and air lines.

Sheila looked up the line of parked Starfuries, reactors still hot, as the hanger crew worked at top speed to get them launched again. Her own crew were now out of their vehicles, popping their own helmets. Lieutenant JG Gregori Vassilev actually took out a cigarette and lit it! The man had a bad case of PTSD. Hell, they all did, but his was one of the worst she had ever seen. He probably shouldn't have been flying, but the way they were hurting for pilots, there really wasn't a choice. Still, he should definitely have known better. She opened her mouth to tell him to put the damned thing out, and then give him a serious dressing down.

She never got the chance.

The Accident Investigation Panel that was later assembled had had to be come from civilians in the fleet, as the military forces did not have the necessary expertise. Initially, they focused on the cigarette as a point of ignition, but detailed analysis of the available video footage showed at least seven potential ignition sources, ranging from hot engines to flailing fuel lines to hot swapping charged induction coils. And yes, that damned cigarette.

The available footage was grainy and low-res enough that it was impossible to determine the actual flash point. The physical evidence inside the bay was either gone, or stripped before the investigation could be completed. Getting the hanger bay back up and running was deemed to be more important than an exhaustive accident investigation, with the team trying to put the jigsaw puzzle that was the bay and the Starfuries back together.

The Panel did discover enough to lay responsibility for the accident at the feet of the former cadets running the bay...or rather those who chose to use them. The cadets had been very well trained, and were good at their jobs. But long hours, fatigue, and stress can cause even the best crews to make mistakes. And while the hanger crew had had the best of training, they were still very short on experience, with limited oversight. They had not had the time to internalize safe practices into habit and form a culture of safety. The focus on speed, on getting the squadrons replenished and back in the black, had led them to begin to cut corners. They improved speed by eliminating steps which seemed unnecessary. Steps they didn't understand had been put into place as critical safety precautions. Those crews would all need to go through crash retraining.

But all of that was weeks and months into the future. For the time being, there was only the accident. The equipment, fuel lines, spare munitions, and Starfuries; Sheila McDonnell, Sofia Martinez, Robert Anders, Gregori Vassilev, and the rest of Gold Alpha squadron, as well as the hanger Chief and all of his on hand crew, were blown up, burnt to a crisp, and sucked out into the vacuum of space.

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The blast threw the Midway into a slow tumble, and hurled everyone who was strapped in against their restraints. Those who weren't strapped in were either thrown into a bulkhead or, if they were lucky enough to be on the opposite side of the compartment, sent sailing across the room, which gave them time to reorient and arrest their falls."

"Report!" Lieutenant Commander Matthew Gideon shouted from the command chair.

"Captain, we've got explosive decompression from Hangar Bay 2!" By long tradition, the commander of a ship was always referred to as Captain by the crew, regardless of their actual rank.

Gideon's blood ran cold. He had friends on duty down there. "Did they evacuate the bay?"

"Negative, sir. Gold Alpha squadron had just embarked, and they were being prepped for relaunch."

"Get Damage Control down there now!" he ordered. Mumbling to himself, he said, "I hope it's not too bad."

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"It's a complete disaster," Gideon advised the room. The Council was meeting on board the Eratosthenes, as things were still chaotic on board the Midway. "We lost all of Gold Alpha squadron, and an entire hangar crew."

Sinclair took over. "This puts us critically under strength for fighter coverage. We will not be able to maintain an adequate CAP. We will have to switch to under strength scouting flights and depend upon rapid reaction squadrons. Even that is still going to stretch our available manpower."

"What about Project Little Bird?" Lochley asked. "Can we start it early?

"I don't see that we really have any other choice. I have already begun the preparations."

"Wait," Sheridan interrupted. "You want to run fighter training school? Now!?"

"We had planned to do so from the beginning. We knew that we would be losing pilots and would need to train replacements," Sinclair said.

"Yes, but not until we were safely out of EA space and beyond the Minbari threat. Or better yet, once we had settled somewhere."

"We can't afford to wait that long. Our available fighters can't cover the fleet properly. We need to supplement that force as soon as possible. As it stands, a small number of Minbari fighters could decimate the civilian ships. And the Minbari aren't the only threat out there, either. It's a dangerous galaxy."

"So what are your plans?" Lochley asked.

"We need these pilots in place as quickly as possible, so we can't afford to start from scratch. We've been searching through the files of all of our military personnel, as well as the info we have on our civilian passengers, looking for the optimal candidates. I'm hoping to train three squadrons with the first class, to bring us back up to nominal levels."

"Civilians?" Lochley asked skeptically.

"Those who were capable of being a fighter pilot generally already were. There are a few of our active military personnel who will probably do well. Current shuttle and ship pilots, mostly, but also a couple of flight crew who washed out of fighter school, and one Special Forces Captain who was a stunt pilot in his spare time back on Earth. Enough candidates to fill one of those three squads.

"It was when I decided on the SF Captain that I realized the civilians might have something to offer. I started by looking for competitive stunt pilots, and found a surprising number of them. But in looking for pilots, I discovered that there are a surprising number of civilian former fighter pilots with us. They either retired from the service or were drummed out for various reasons….health or misconduct."

"You want to bring back Court Martialed pilots?" Garibaldi asked skeptically.

Sinclair met his eyes. "Yes," he said seriously. "Two or three of them. Folks who were drummed out of the service for minor offenses at a time when the military wasn't so desperate for personnel. If needs must when the Minbari drive."

"You know," Gideon said after a moment, "Earth Force has been calling for personnel since the war started. If these civilians haven't been drawn back into the military already, it may be because they have no desire to be. They may just turn you down."

"I've anticipated that. I've put together a list of a few dozen of the top candidates. We'll go down the list until we fill out the second squad."

"And the third squad?" Levitt inquired.

"Cadets." A ripple of groans went around the room, which seemed to amuse Sinclair. Gideon, on the other hand, shot a glare at every last one of them. Sinclair continued. "I understand your concerns. But, these cadets already have a lot of training. They were the trainees assigned to the Midway when it was still a training ship. Lefcourt decided we absolutely needed to use the cadets for running the ship, but we had just enough pilots not to have to use cadets for that role, and Lefcourt felt they could use a bit more seasoning. I agree with that, by the way. I considered suggesting that they go right into service, but I think we should put them through a hard train process first.

"As advantages, they already are very familiar with the Midway and it's processes, and they know and have worked very closely with the Midway's crew and her Captain. Well...all but one of them anyway. I have saved one slot for a second year cadet." That drew another round of looks from the Captains, this time including Gideon. "I know what you're thinking. But she's not actually that young. She dropped out of college and enrolled in the academy after her brother was killed in action against the Minbari. She's also got some limited pilot training from that same brother. But the deciding factor for me was the space combat aptitude test that's administered to all first year cadets. Hers were the highest in academy history. They blew mine out of the water. Susan Ivanova has got what it takes."

"Susan Ivanova?" asked Sheridan. "Ganya's little sister? I served with him. He was killed in the battle against the Black Star. He was one our best pilots."

"His sister will be even better," Sinclair promised. "I know all of this is unorthodox, but a lack of fighter pilots could doom the whole fleet."

"Even our best pilots get slaughtered against the Minbari," Bester noted. "If you rush these people through training, how will they have any chance at all?"

"If all they do is act as a sponge for Minbari fire, that still might buy enough time for the fleet to get out of a tight spot. But I have no intention of turning out substandard pilots. These are the ones I think could be ready quickly. I've got plenty of other candidates for a second and third round of training."

"Well, you sold me," Garibaldi piped in. "Is there anyone actually opposed to the idea?" After a few moments of silence he stated, "well then, the aye's I didn't bother to count have it. Let's adjourn this puppy."

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 **Hyperspace, en route to Epsilon Eridani system, Exodus Fleet - October, 2248**

Sheridan sat in the command chair on the bridge of the EAS Nova. They were on rear guard, well back from the last ship of the fleet. He was going over reports from the various department heads, when he heard the sensor operator gasp, "Oh, hell. Captain! We've got a Minbari cruiser bearing down on us fast, coming up from dead astern."

 _Of course_ , Sheridan thought, _where else would they be coming from?_ _You have to follow the beacons in hyper, so it's either dead astern or they would have run into the vanguard ship way up front._ Out loud he said, "Sound call to battle stations. Notify the fleet of our pursuer. Advise all ships to go to maximum thrust for Epsilon Eridani. Call for the ready reaction squad to get back here and cover us. Get any pilots on board to their ships and get them launched. Then prepare to swing us about."

"Shouldn't we just engage them with our tail guns, Captain?" Takashima asked.

"No, we need to stop them as far back from the fleet as possible. Buy them time to escape. For that matter, as far back as we are hanging, they might not even have seen the rest of the fleet. They might think it's just us." Was this it? Lefcourt had said that, in the first action against a real Minbari threat, he and his ship were likely to be thrown away in order for the rest of the fleet to escape. Had that time come? Maybe not. Perhaps there was a chance.

"Come about," he ordered, and the ship began a rapid spin. "Sensors, navigation, weapons, I want our best estimate as to the location of that ship. You've got one minute." As the officers spoke quietly but hurriedly with each other, the Minbari ship raced closer. After slightly less than a minute he asked, "do we have an estimate on range?" When he got a nod he ordered, "Prepare a couple of energy mines. I want them to go off fifty kilometers short of where we think the Minbari are. Ready? Fire!"

The energy mines streaked outwards towards the Minbari, and then detonated. Their one hundred megaton fury briefly blinded the Nova, but readings came back a second later. "No effect, Captain," Takashima reported, disappointment in her voice.

"Give me three more. This time, move them into thirty kilometers shy of our estimate on their location. Place them in a triangular pattern around the Minbari's path, each fifteen kilometers out from dead center."

"The Minbari will enter their firing range in seconds, Captain," Takashima advised.

"Fire!" The energy mines streaked away. "See if you can filter the glare more this time."

"Aye, Captain," called the sensor operator. The energy mines detonated one at a time. The glare on the screen was much more muted this time. The entire bridge crew watched as the first mine did absolutely nothing. And then the second. When the third mine detonated, however, the Minbari ship seemed to heave and list, spinning nearly forty degrees to port. It regained control within seconds, and shortly corrected it's course, but it slowed itself, significantly, and the range began to open up again.

Laurel looked at him. "How? We've never been able to crack their stealth."

"And we still haven't," he said. "But in hyperspace, they have to follow the beacon just like us. Their stealth means our targeting is going to be way off, but the whole point of an energy mine is to effect a massive area. Their stealth is so good that historically even our one hundred megaton mines haven't had enough punch to compensate. That's why Earth Force was working on gigaton mines for the new Omegas. We ran out time for those, but we have an advantage here. Hyperspace isn't like normal space. It's not a vacuum. It's a medium, almost like atmosphere. Which gives the energy of the mine something to propagate through, significantly increasing the area of effect. It also causes all kinds of weird effects in hyperspace, but we're headed away from those effects, while the Minbari are heading into them. Even the Minbari don't like to fight in hyperspace."

"They're coming in again, Captain!" called the sensors operator. On the screen, the Minbari had returned to their intercept course, and were again closing the distance rapidly.

"Give me another trio of mines," Sheridan ordered. "Fire!" All three mines flew through the void and detonated around the apparent location of the Minbari. It's course remained unchanged.

"No effect, Captain," Takashima noted.

"Again. Fire!" This time, when the first mine detonated, the Sharlin seemed to waver, and then heeled over hard. The range again began to increase. "Spin us about! Max thrust for E. Eridani!" The Nova had spun around in seconds, and was shortly under full burn. "We need to make sure that we don't overtake the fleet. They need to be fully into the system before we reach the gate. Cease acceleration if we achieve overtake speeds."

"Aye, Captain," Takashima called. Several minutes later she said, "Captain Sheridan, the Minbari are back, coming up at high speed."

"Spin us about, and prepare another salvo of mines." He waited for the turn to be completed, and the weapons officer to indicate he had his best estimate for the Sharlin's location. "Fire!" This time the Minbari cruiser seemed to jerk with the second detonation.

"Did you see that?" Sheridan asked excitedly.

"Captain?"

"It looked like there was a small secondary flash, and maybe some debris. I might be mistaken, be perhaps we did some real damage. It could have been secondary effects, perhaps some decompression."

"The Minbari are backing off again, Captain," Laurel said.

"Bring us about and resume former course."

She leaned over, close to his station, and informed him in a quiet voice, meant for his ears only, "Captain, if the Minbari keep coming on as they have been, our supplies of energy mines won't last very long."

"Long enough to get us to Epsilon Eridani?"

"It'll be really close, Captain."

"We'll go for it then. Thank you for the warning, Lieutenant Commander."

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"Minbari backing off again, Captain. I think I can see damage to their hull," Lieutenant Commander Takashima advised. "Sensors cannot confirm, of course." The Minbari had slowed the number of attempts they were making to close the range, but the attempts they did make had become rather creative. They had made several attempts to pass the Nova at range, swinging dangerously wide of the beacon path, probably to the point they had lost contact with it. That meant they were probably counting on their sensor contact with the Nova to get them back onto a beacon lock. It was actually quite dangerous for them. If the Nova managed to damage them enough to break sensor lock, they might be lost in hyperspace forever. However, it was also a very effective tactic, making it much harder for the officers of the Nova to cut them off with energy mine salvoes. They had been forced to expend the munitions lavishly to prevent the Minbari from getting in front of them, which would have given the Minbari the tactical advantage and ended the battle shortly thereafter. She leaned in closer to Sheridan and whispered, "We have only one energy mine left, sir."

Sheridan grunted and responded quietly, "That's alright, Laurel. We made it. We're only a few minutes from the E. Eridani gate. Did we get a confirmation on my suggestions for fleet disposition?"

"Commander Sinclair commed, and stated that General Lefcourt has approved your plan. The whole fleet will be making their way across the system to the other jump gate at max thrust."

"Good. If we have to blow the gate, hopefully only a small portion of the fleet will be close enough to be destroyed by the blast."

"Captain?" she asked, shocked.

"Get us through the gate, Lieutenant Commander, and then bring us to a stop immediately. Prepare to initiate the Bonehead maneuver."

"Captain, that would be suicide. We could never escape the blast." A jumpgate was, of necessity, basically a set of giant capacitors, coupled to giant generators. It took vast amounts of energy to open a jump point, and a jump gate opened a larger jump point than any ship, and could hold one open for longer as well. The massive energies involved in jump gate operations had lead some enterprising young officer to question what would happen if someone attempted to use a ship based jump drive to open a jump point in an active jump gate. The suggestion was filed, and thus was born the Bonehead maneuver. It was so named because it was determined immediately that the resulting explosion, large enough to rival a planetary detonation, would create a blast wave that no known ship could possibly escape. It was a powerful, but invariably suicidal maneuver. "Besides," she continued, "Minbari cruisers have their own jump drives, and often choose to use them rather than going through jump gates. Especially after we took out one of their Sharlins when the Patton rammed it. Going through a jump gate tells us exactly where they are, and the whole point of their stealth system is to never allow us that information."

"I know. I'm hoping that they won't want to waste the time using a separate area for a jump. This is a chase, and they'll want to cut us off before we can run to the system's other jumpgate."

"They wouldn't have to rush, sir. The fleet isn't fast enough to let us dash across the system."

"Yes, but _they_ shouldn't know that. The fleet was far enough ahead that the Minbari shouldn't have been able to detect them. As far as the Minbari are concerned, we're alone. Besides, even if they do choose to create their own jump point, there's a good chance that they will still be close enough that a jump gate explosion will be big enough to take them out. But, if they come through the jumpgate, we might have some other options. If they use their jump drive, we'll have no choice but Bonehead."

Laurel straightened, and said in a louder voice, "Approaching jumpgate. Cycling now." There was a blossoming of light in the patch of hyperspace in front of them. The blue-green swirl of a hyperspace exit vortex opened before them, and the Nova fell through into normal space. "Full stop," Takashima ordered. Then, looking at her displays, her eyebrows rose in concern. "Captain," she said, shunting her display to one of his personal screens, "it's the Lexington." Sitting directly in front of them, at a dead stop relative to the gate, sat the EAS Lexington, and two full squadrons of fighters. "We've got a comm message coming in from Captain Lochley, sir."

Sheridan, opened the comm message and waited a moment, until the image of his ex-wife appeared on the screen. "What the hell, Liz? You're supposed to be escorting the fleet across the system, not sitting here. The Minbari will be here any moment!"

She appeared completely unmoved by his ire. "And we intend to stand with you John."

"Liz, we'll almost certainly have to use the Bonehead maneuver. Remember what Lefcourt said about how the Nova was to be used. The fleet can't afford to lose both of us."

"John, I know you. I know that you never go for pure suicide tactics. You've got a plan to try to get your crew out of this alive. Sinclair and Bester agree with me. Sinclair approved the fighter dispatch, and Bester is leading those fighters. Let us help. Let me help. Besides, if you have to use Bonehead, then it's already too late for us. So let me help you keep both our crews alive."

Sheridan nodded, angrily. "Fine. Do you remember when we used to discuss how best to defend against the Minbari?" At her nod he continued, "Good. We're going to go with the gate defense plan that we came up with. You remember the one?"

Lochley nodded, but then said, "That requires them to come through the gate. That's not really their style. Is there a reason you think they will?"

"At this point, it's really our only hope. Besides, between bouts of slowing down that cruiser, we've been running dead out for the gate. They can't have seen the fleet, so they should think we're a lone ship; a random survivor of the war. They'll be expecting us to sprint across the system to get away, which means that whoever is commanding that ship out there probably won't risk losing us by slowing down to use an alternate jump point."

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"The humans have completed transition to normal space via the jump gate, Alyt," the Warrior Caste officer said, bowing respectfully to his superior. "We shall arrive at the gate momentarily."

"Travel beyond the gate, and use the jump engines to drop us into the system at least a light second beyond the gate. I want to be in front of that Dreadnought when we transition to normal space."

The warrior bowed again. "With greatest regret, Alyt, I am afraid that I cannot comply. The damage we took from the repeated buffeting of the human weapons has rendered the hyperspace systems currently inoperable. I must apologize for the failure of my damage control and engineering teams."

The Alyt looked at him with a serious expression. "Ni moshna. The fault is mine. I should not have pushed so hard to overtake the humans, particularly after they revealed their tactic. If we have to use the jump gate, we will want to get through as quickly as possible, so that we may maneuver to cut of the humans' escape. Fayzen shok!"

His order was carried out, but afterwards the warrior returned and quietly asked, "Alyt, are you not concerned that they will be waiting to ambush us as we exit the gate? Perhaps a ramming attack, or even an energy mine into the gate? They can just target the gate, rendering our stealth ineffective."

"It is possible, but highly unlikely. Do you recall all those dozens of ships we picked up on long range sensors? They were clearly the tail of a much larger beast. No, this is obviously the evacuation fleet for which we have been searching. Their warriors will be bound, honorless though they may be, to stand guard over their fleeing workers. They will be making their way across the system at best speed. Besides, launching a mine towards the gate would destroy it. Even the humans are not so foolish as that.

"We will, however, take the appropriate precautions. Prepare to launch fighters as soon as we get through the gate. Scan the space in front of us and prepare to engage any vessels which might be on a ramming course. Have point defense and the fighter screen attempt to shoot down any mines or missiles fired at us."

"Alyt, we are ready to transition through the jumpgate."

"Take us through. Nisi du zafann drok."

"Si dromo." The Sharlin slid gracefully forward into the bluish green exit vortex generated by the jump gate. "Forward screens clear. Sensors are picking up a large number of ships a significant distance into the system, fleeing away from us."

That would be the fleet, the Alyt thought. He had been correct, the humans were continuing to flee. "Launch fighters. Set intercept cour….." The deck heaved under him, knocking several of the crew to the floor.

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On his screen, Sheridan watched the jumpgate cycle and a hyperspace vortex burst to life. As rapidly as possible, he had instituted a gate defense he had been considering for quite a while. He had positioned the Nova just a dozen or so meters above the upper strut of the jump gate; perpendicular to the strut, so that the ship would be parallel to the mouth of the open vortex. The Lexington was in a similar position just below the opposite strut, except that it was positioned parallel to the strut. Between the radiant energies of the gate and their nearness to the struts, it should be extremely hard for the Minbari to notice them until it was too late. The four squadrons of fighters, two from the Nova and the two the Lexington had arrived with, were stacked up behind each of the ships, ready to pounce on the Minbari.

"They're coming through!" Takashima called. She seemed to hold her breath for a moment and then called, "It worked! They're so close, we have a partial lock!"

"Fire!" Sheridan commanded, with quiet intensity.

The EAS Nova, first of it's line, carried eighteen turrets, nine to a side. Each turret carried a pair of Medium Laser Cannon; the most powerful direct fire weapon the Earth Alliance had ever mounted on a ship. All told, the Nova mounted thirty-six of them. It let loose with the full starboard broadside of eighteen beams.

Despite their proximity, the Minbari stealth was still partially effective. A third of the beams missed entirely. That still left a dozen powerful lasers to carve into the Sharlin's tail. The vessel seemed to buck like and angry bull. Secondary explosions erupted from the impact points, and shattered crystalline armor and venting atmosphere and other detritus spun off into space.

"Roll!" Sheridan shouted, and the vessel began to rotate in space. As his view began to roll off of the Sharlin, Sheridan watched the pulses from the Lexington also begin to impact. After its refit the Lexington carried a diverse but powerful weapons loadout, concentrated to fire forward. He watched as the Lex's pair of Heavy Pulse Cannon each scored direct hits into the Minbari's' rear. Pulses from the Lex's trio of forward facing Medium Pulse Cannon and its pair of Medium Plasma cannon, as well as a flurry of shot's from its array of Standard Particle Beams, also raced towards the Sharlin, though nearly half of those attacks seemed to miss. All of those weapons were powerful in their own right, but no mere Heavy Cruiser mounted anything to match the lasers mounted on his own dreadnought. Still, every little bit helped.

"Engines to full. Direct every watt of spare power to recharging starboard guns." By the time Sheridan finished giving the command, the roll was completed. He had considered positioning the Nova nose on towards the Minbari, just as the Lexington had, which would have allowed a heavier initial salvo of fourteen turrets instead of nine. But it was much harder to flip a vessel than it was to roll it, so his overall rate and weight of fire would have been lower. "Fire!" he commanded again, and this time the eighteen port lasers spoke. Ten of them struck the Minbari's tail, which was now belching flame and atmosphere in numerous locations.

Time to bring the starboard lasers back around. "Roll!" The roll would be completed before they finished recharging. Hopefully he had already knocked the fight out of the boneheads, and the next salvo or two would finish them off. As the ship began to roll again, he watched as all four squadrons of Starfuries swept in to begin their own attack runs.

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"Bring us about!" the Alyt commanded. _Honorless humans! How did we miss them,_ he asked himself. Those shots had clearly been into the rear of his ship, so he had to get the floundering vessel turned around. He would not lose to humans! "Where is my fighter cover?!"

"Trying to launch now," the warrior in charge of monitoring fighter operations called out. Just as various crew members began picking themselves up off the floor, the deck heaved again, sending them sprawling once more. That was definitely the dreadnought out there. The steady rumble between those enormous hits meant there must be at least one additional but smaller ship in support. "Bring us about!" he ordered again. "We have to return fire on those ships."

"Alyt," called the warrior monitoring damage control, his tone strained. "We have lost most of our maneuver capability. The stealth field is down!"

"Launch those fighters, now!" the Alyt called for the final time.

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Sheridan watched as the Starfuries made a fast run past the Sharlin, strafing known weapons emplacements, trying the neuter the ship. A pair of green beams returned fire, swatting two of their precious Starfuries, and even more precious pilots, from the heavens. But that was the only return fire. It appeared they had caught the Minbari flat footed.

"We have a full weapons lock," Takashima called out in surprise. She looked up and met his eyes. "Their stealth fields are down," she said in shock, then added, "and our starboard lasers just finished recharging."

"Then by all means, fire," he said with a grin. The eighteen Medium Laser Cannon of the starboard broadside spoke, and this time not a single one missed. They carved deep into the Sharlin, and the damage was too much even for that mighty vessel. Secondary blasts began to go off all over the ship. An entire drive fin sheared itself off, and then much of the rear portion of the vessel blew itself apart. This was followed by the self immolation of the forward sections...just seconds after a trio of Nials spit from the Sharlin's hangar bay.

"Ahh hell," Sheridan cursed softly under the cheers coming from every member of the bridge crew, most of whom had not noticed the Nials. He opened the comm to broadcast to the Lexington and the fighter squadrons. "We've got a flight of Nials. All Starfuries, engage, engage, engage."

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"Well, isn't this lovely?" Bester quipped to his squadron, as he lead it in an attempted run against the Minbari fighters. The problem, of course, was that the Nials could bank and accelerate at rates that put any human fighter to shame, and frankly baffled EA engineers. The Minbari picked a vector away from his Black Omega squadron, and toward Red Epsilon, one of two squadrons stationed aboard the Eratosthenes and the other squadron which Commander Sinclair had assigned to escort the Lex into this fight.

The Minbari fighters quickly accelerated out of his weapons envelope, easily dodging the few shots Black Omega sent in their direction. They blew right through Red Epsilon, taking out three Starfuries in the process. The remainder of Red Epsilon attempted to come about and fire on the Nials, but they were already well past the formation and still accelerating. The range rapidly opened, and their stealth fields quickly caused first Black Omega, and then the remains of Red Epsilon, to lose their targeting and sensor locks.

In the distance, Bester could see both of the Nova's fighter squadron, Red Delta and Blue Delta, streaking towards the Minbari. They never even came close. The Nials kept the range open, then swept around both squadrons, and used long range fire to destroy two of Red Delta's Starfuries. They swept past, vectoring away again to further increase the range and improve the performance of their stealth systems. Given their speed and maneuverability, all a Starfury could really hope to do was either build up a significant velocity advantage, Sinclair's successful Zoom and Boom tactic, or use the Starfury's excellent rotational capabilities to keep it's guns pointed in the direction of the enemy. That tactic felt more like manning a slightly mobile AA gun than flying the hottest fighter mankind could produce. But given the Minbari seemed intent on maintaining both their speed and maneuverability advantages in this fight, it seemed to be the only tactic open to him.

"Assume Combat Box formation," he ordered. At his command, Black Omega broke into six sets of wingmen, each pairing moving to take up position in a lopsided box shape. Combat Box formation was better suited to bombers or lumbering warships, allowing them to concentrate their firepower to defend against attacks from any direction. Fighters almost universally utilized alternate formations; those with greater flexibility, making better use of the fighter's capability for maneuver and high speed strikes. But as outclassed as the Starfuries were in those regards, it would be wiser just to have the squadron able to maximize their ability to react as a group to a threat from any vector. Thus, the assumption of Combat Box.

Bester saw Theta squadron in the distance. Lexington's fighter wing (technically the six craft, all a Hyperion class heavy cruiser could carry, were a flight, not a squadron; but you didn't name flights) were pitching up and heading back towards the Lex. Bester led his squadron towards them, hoping to link up and increase his concentration of firepower. However, they had no more than completed their turn when he saw the green beams of the Minbari fighters gut Theta, destroying two of the fighters outright, and leaving a third damaged but intact, though completely dead in space.

At the speed those Nials were moving, that would put them off of his flank right about….now. "Maximum rotation, starboard! Fire!" It was to his men's credit that there was not a moment's hesitation before they obeyed the bizarre order. As a unit they rotated to the right, sweeping a stream of pulse cannon fire around with them. And there were the Minbari, just where he predicted they would be, and already lining up on an attack run.

Their formation broke as they scattered around the storm of pulse cannon fire coming from Black Omega. For just a moment his sensors registered one of the Nials, though it never approached anything like an actual weapons lock. And then it dropped off, as the Nials increased the distance again, looking for easier prey. The Nials wove through a complicated pattern, for a moment facing back towards Black Omega, and a set of green beams speared through Black Omega 5, from well outside the range of the squadron's return fire. Lieutenant Sally Kominsky, telepath and former Psi-cop, didn't even get a chance to scream.

Bester cursed. Another dead telepath. A friend as well, but any telepath was worth any ten mundanes. How many more would he lose against these accursed Minbari? If they could take out his own fighters from beyond the range of his own weapons...then Combat Box was a death trap. "Black Omega, go full evasive! Stay with your wingmen! Ironheart, on me!" Ensign Ironheart in Black Omega 6 had been Kominsky's wingman. Bester wasn't going to leave the rookie uncovered.

The squadron broke out of Combat Box and into four pairs and a trio of Starfuries, each grouping separately going into wild gyrations, trying to make it harder for the Minbari to get in a shot. Bester craned his head wildly, as did each of the pilots, all trying to get a visual on the Minbari fighters. Their sensors were all but useless, and the squadron had drifted away from the other squadrons and the warships. He was about to order the unit to reclose on the Lexington, which could offer far better covering fire than the Nova, when Black Omega 8 called out, "Bandits! Bearing one-six-five by five-two!"

 _They're coming right up our tails_ , Bester thought. "Thach Weave, now," he ordered. It was an old maneuver, in which two or more craft would regularly intersect and cross their paths, in an attempt to get an enemy to focus on a single craft, allowing that craft's partner to gain an advantageous position to attack the enemy. It was a lot easier to pull off within an atmosphere, but it could be done using the pure Newtonian maneuvering necessary in vacuum. No, what really made the move challenging to pull off was incorporating Ironheart into the maneuver. But Black Omega was well trained, and Ironheart knew how to slot himself into the modified maneuver.

The Weave successfully initiated, Bester returned to scanning the heavens desperately, trying to spot the Minbari flight. _I won't lose any more telepaths!_ He still hadn't spotted them when his sensor display pinged, having detected an object on a rapid approach. A split second later, two more contacts were detected, flying in a loose Vic formation with the first. They were headed right for Ironheart. Based on what little information the sensors were able to provide, his only hope of keeping Ironheart alive would be to turn a sharp ninety degrees to starboard and fire a full salvo, hoping to hit something. He had bare moments to do so but… _Something's wrong_ , he thought. He felt… He felt… He heeled over to port at maximum rotation, bringing the nose up just a little and firing. A Nial was there, and the sensors still showed it in a slightly different location. He saw the pulse discharges from his cannon salvoes strike the Nial once, twice, three times, and the Minbari fighter broke apart. Black Omega spun, trying to hit the remaining two Minbari as they swept past and faded into the distance. The squadron hadn't taken a single hit this time.

How had he done that? Bester wracked his mind, trying to understand just what had happened. He didn't have visual contact, and sensors had told him the Nial was in a different location, but somehow he had known exactly where it would be. He scanned his computer readouts, and his secondary sensor inputs. Perhaps he had subconsciously noticed some sensor discrepancy which had tipped him off.

He began rapidly flipping through the various sensor readings, and the diagnostics on the systems. A Starfury was a massively complex beast, and there was just so much...he flipped his fighter into a backwards rotation of over one hundred and thirty degrees, and fired again. He discharged his pulse cannons, and this time fired off a pair of missiles as well. The Nial was so close he should have been able to see the pilot. His pulse discharges splashed off it's armored belly, but both missiles, fired blind and with no targeting data at all, impacted directly on it's nose. The Minbari fighter blew apart in a brilliant fireball. Bits of the craft pelted his Starfury like a vicious hailstorm.

 _What the hell was going on?_

Bester inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. His computer read him a litany of minor damage. His comms crackled with cheers, orders from the Lexington, contradictory orders from the Nova, queries from his pilots, congratulations from the other squadrons. Commander Alfred Bester shut it all out. He took all of the sensory input and walled it away into a tiny pocket within his mind. And then he listened. He listened to his body. He listened to his mind. And then he reached out with his mind and listened beyond. Listening.

He snapped his fighter into another sharp bank, starboard and upward this time. He could hear his engines groaning, having taken shrapnel damage from the nearby explosion. Without opening his eyes, he triggered off a pair of missiles and fired his pulse cannons. His starfury jerked, flashing red warning lights piercing his eyelids, accompanied by damage alerts and sirens.

He opened his eyes and beheld, directly in front of him, the final Nial. It was charging directly at him, doubtless seeking vengeance for it's two destroyed companions. It's last salvo had sheared off his port ventral wing, arresting his rotation. Time seemed to slow down for Bester. He saw the Nial slide between his two missiles, his pulse cannon fire splashing off it's heavily armored prow. Th _is is it_ , he thought, _this is how I die._ The Nial fired another salvo, two of it's green beams sliding past his starfury, the third mangling his starboard dorsal wing...just as his Pulser fire finally caved in it's bow, and the whole vessel erupted into a fireball.

A fireball that was already so close, it rolled over his own vessel. The damage alerts redoubled, and his entire craft groaned and lurched from multiple impacts of large pieces of debris. His entire canopy spider webbed under a single large impact. And then the fireball was past and he found himself alive, and cheers reverberated over his comms. His fighter was even still functional enough to get him to the nearby Nova. More importantly, he had the key.

 _Well now_ , he thought to himself, _isn't that interesting._

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Applause broke out all around the bridge. "Report," Sheridan commanded quietly. He was having a hard time crediting what he had just seen.

"All three enemy fighters destroyed, Captain." Takashima turned to face him as she delivered her report. All three kills credited to Black Omega Leader." She said it with awe in her voice. Nobody got three kills against the Minbari. _Nobody_. Not even Commander Sinclair had accomplished that. This would raise Commander Bester's reputation nearly to that of Captain Sheridan's. She shook herself out of her contemplation, and continued her report. "Nine starfuries lost in the battle. Five more heavily damaged, including Black Omega Leader. He's making his way here, as are the other damaged, for docking. We're sending out shuttles, as two of those vessels will need to be towed in."

Sheridan nodded curtly and said, "Good. Once all craft have been recovered, set course to catch up to the fleet, maximum thrust. We can hope there aren't other Minbari vessels en route, but let's not stick around to find out. Have Commander Bester report to me in Briefing Room 2 as soon as he is aboard. I'll be very interested in what he has to say."

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Captain John Sheridan sat in Briefing Room 2, staring at the bulkhead. As he waited, he found himself thinking about General Lefcourt. How would the fleet be doing if the man had survived? Would he have approved of the Council of Captains, and how they had been handling things? Probably not. Would he have gotten them past this Minbari cruiser? Who knew? John didn't believe in false modesty, certainly not during moments of personal introspection. He was well aware that he had accomplished things no other human had. If Lefcourt had remained in charge, he might very well have allowed Sheridan to run things exactly as he had. Then again, maybe he would have added orders of his own that might have sealed the Nova's fate. He certainly wouldn't have allowed the Lexington to assist in a gate defense. And he probably would have been correct in that decision, at least, in John's opinion. But it also probably would have meant the certain deaths of John and his crew, and might very well have allowed a successful Sharlin to chase down and eliminate the rest of the fleet.

Mostly, Sheridan just missed the man, and the avuncular manner he had used with John. He was finding it harder and harder to maintain his initial rage and anger at the man's suicide. He had respected the General a great deal, and felt more confusion now than anything else. He just couldn't reconcile the suicide with the vibrant, indomitable man who had driven this project through every difficulty which had arisen. Could it have been an accident? But that would have required the General to be playing with a loaded gun like some kind of child, which was just as ridiculous and out of character. John just had to accept that he would probably never know, and that even if he did, he probably wouldn't like the answer. He hoped that someday he would be able to look back on the General with the fondness and respect he had so recently held.

His mind, considering the loss of Lefcourt, naturally turned to thoughts of Anna. He stepped on that hard. Anna hadn't made it to the fleet, and John simply did not have the time or energy to deal with that loss. The _fleet_ couldn't afford for him to be dealing with the loss. When he had finally realized that there was no doubt she had been left behind, he had taken all thoughts and emotions about her, and jammed them down into a deep, dark corner of his mind. He would not allow them out now. He would have to grieve later, when the fleet was safe. He didn't care if that was a healthy thing to do or not. It was for the good of the fleet.

His ruminations were interrupted as the door slid open, and Commander Bester drifted in. He floated towards the briefing table, affixed to the floor, and sat down without offering a salute to Sheridan. It was clearly a calculated insult, or at least a reminder that, despite their difference in rank, Bester was also a member of the Council of Captains, and just as important as Sheridan.

John ground his teeth in irritation for a moment, but chose to let it pass. There was no point in antagonizing the former Psi-cop. Besides, they had important things to discuss. "It would seem that congratulations are in order Al. Excellent work." There, let the man chew on that. He hoped he hadn't laced too much contempt into the man's name, they were on the same side, after all. But, he had a hard time bringing himself to care about the telepath's feelings.

"Thank you, John," the man replied affably, his face unmoving save for that small smile he so often wore. "And you as well."

Well, Sheridan supposed turnabout was fair play. The man had an excellent poker face. He supposed most telepaths probably did, and particularly ex-Psi-cops. It was time to stop sparring. They had more important things to discuss. "I understand how I defeated the Sharlin. What I don't understand is how you took out those three Nials. No one takes out three Nials. No one."

"The evidence would seem to disagree with that assessment," Bester responded with his small smile.

"How?"

"I suppose I could tell you that it was my god-like piloting skills. But that would be, strictly speaking, only partially accurate."

"And the rest of the reason?"

Bester held his gaze silently for several moments, and then said quietly, "Telepathy."

John's brow furrowed in confusion. Had he heard correctly? "Excuse me?"

"Yes, you did hear correctly. I said telepathy." John narrowed his eyes at the evidence that Bester was reading his mind, but Bester continued before he said anything about it. "Their stealth system does not seem to affect telepathy. My sensors were telling me that an enemy fighter was in one direction, but I could telepathically feel the Minbari in another, slightly different direction. I was even able to get a feel for one when it wasn't showing on my sensors at all."

"You managed to get a weapon's lock...telepathically?"

"Of course not, Captain," Bester said in the same kind of tone he might use for a small, particularly dimwitted child. "A weapon's lock is something for the electrical systems of the Starfury. Telepathy does not affect those in any way. I do seem to recall some rather unsuccessful attempts to link a telepath to a comms system several decades back. Rather foolish attempts which only lead to lost money and damaged telepaths. No, I only got a hint of where they might be, and targeted and fired manually based upon my own knowledge of the propulsion, maneuver, and weapons systems. Hence the god-like piloting skills I referred to a few moments ago." His small smile was back.

John ignored it, leaning back in his seat, and cupping his chin thoughtfully. "Your squadron is all telepaths, correct? Did any of the others pick up on this?"

"Yes, they are, and no, they didn't. It was extremely faint, and easily overlooked in the stress of combat. Especially since it still requires the enemy craft to be somewhat close. But, once I knew what to search for, honing in on their thoughts was a bit easier."

"You could read their minds? Predict their maneuvers?"

"No, not at all. That would require eye contact, and for us to be practically on top of one another. It was just a general feel that there was another mind out there. Of course, once I realized that I could feel for that mind, I also had to screen out my own pilots, and the other nearby humans. It will take a lot of work and skill to make use of this, Captain."

"I suppose so. But we finally have a way to pierce their stealth, other than point blank range and a massive numbers advantage." Sheridan found himself getting excited. This was a limited advantage, but it could very well mean the difference between life and death. "This brings me to another matter, actually. We lost more than another squadron in this battle, and we haven't even gotten out of EA territory yet. Sinclair isn't even starting the training for his pilot recruits until tomorrow. Given both the losses and the intel gathered in this fight, I think we can convince him to train up an additional twelve pilots in this first class. That gives you twenty-four hours to find twelve telepaths capable of being fighter pilots and taking advantage of your new technique. Of course, once they are trained to fly, you'll have to train them in the telepathic technique. For that matter, I suppose you will need to work with Commander Sinclair to come up with combat tactics designed to make the best use of this ability. Can you do all that?"

Bester hesitated for a moment, then said, "Yes, Captain, I believe I can. As for recruits, I believe this method of detection will most likely require powerful, high level telepaths. Between that and a need to find disciplined volunteers in only a day, the only way I will fill a squadrons is to pull in former Psi-cops. I want that to be understood in advance, so that it doesn't lead to any...unfortunate misunderstandings."

Sheridan grimaced, but then nodded sharply. "Understood. And thank you, Commander. Well done. Very well done."

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"Through here," Gary McKinney said gruffly, ducking down a darkened side passage. He glanced back at the old fart following him. The well dressed man was clearly accustomed to power and influence, and his accent set off all of Gary's preconceived notions about Earth snobs. He almost reconsidered bringing him to the council. But making contact with this man was going to give him a name.

After that bitch Tessa dumped him, he realized how much her whining about restraint was holding him back. He had once respected her family name and her father's efforts as a lawman, but these days the law was just another method by which the Earthers controlled and exploited them. And now they had taken everything from the few Marsies who had been allowed to survive, and brought the Minbari down on the rest. And despite all that, Tessa was off working for them, trying to follow in her father's footsteps as cop. All she really was, was a fool and a turncoat. And a bitch. He couldn't forget what a bitch she was.

He had begun to preach to anyone who would listen about how they couldn't let the Earthers just run roughshod over them. He had always been good at speaking. It had served him well in college. This time, it had brought him to the attention of the Resistance.

The Mars Resistance had existed for some time, and it had been growing stronger lately as well. They hadn't quite gotten to the point of actually striking out against the Earthers' control institutions, but it was only a matter of time. And then the war had come, and everyone had focused on the Minbari. The Resistance had worked to convince the provisional government to declare independence and neutrality. The Minbari would provide Earth with it's just desserts, and Mars would be free. But those bastards from Earth had screwed them again, particularly the military officers in charge of this fleet.

They had kidnapped a huge portion of the Mars population, and in so doing had drawn down the Minbari wrath on Mars. Every single Marsie death could be laid at the feet of these fools. But, in abducting the people of Mars, they had also reeled in a significant portion of the Resistance. The organization had been torn to shreds and scattered across the fleet. Just figuring out who was here, where they were at, and reconstituting the lines of organization and communication, not to mention leadership, had taken a good deal of time. It was still under way, really. But, the ruling council was in place, and they were starting to gather in new members. Like Gary.

The Resistance was growing. Rapidly. The formal structures which had held them in check on Mars were gone, replaced by a military police structure which as yet seemed unaware of them, or at least wasn't paying attention to them. Certainly, plenty of Marsies were now part of the brotherhood of humanity movement which blamed everything on the Minbari. Broadcasting the Minbari attack on Mars had been a master stroke for whatever Earther had thought of it. But there were still plenty of Marsies who knew who the real enemy was.

No, the real challenge for the Resistance, at least for the moment, was that they were scattered amongst all of these fragging ships. And in every ship, they were a minority. In a word, they were contained. They needed to grow, which they were doing, and they needed allies, of which they currently had none.

The rapid growth was an opportunity for Gary. He was one of the first of the new recruits from the fleet. He had already brought in many additional members. His influence was growing. He wanted to be on the council. And this man would get him there. The Resistance might finally have an ally. Gary wasn't quite sure whether he had found the man, or if the man had found him. Either way, this meeting was a risk, but it was far too much of an opportunity to pass up, for either Gary or the Resistance.

They ducked down another dark corridor, and finally came to what appeared to be a broom closet. In point of fact, it _was_ a broom closet. However, a door had been installed and cleverly concealed in the back of it, leading to a rarely used maintenance space near the outer hull of the ship. The room was lit by a single dim lantern. Over half the council was present, which was a huge logistical feat in and of itself, given how each council member represented one of the large passenger liners of the fleet, and almost all twenty had an assigned council member. Moving that many people surreptitiously around the fleet was not easy.

As Gary and the old man entered the room, the council members formed a loose semicircle around them. They were each wearing dark, workmen like clothing, loose in a gender obscuring way. Well, except for one rather voluptuous woman off to the side. From what Gary could see, she would probably have to be wearing a main battle tank in order to obscure those generous curves. Each of the council members also wore a darkened visor, fully obscuring their faces. As far as Gary knew, no one knew was aware of their identities. He wasn't even certain they knew each other's identities.

Several of their heads swiveled in Gary's direction, clearly expecting him to withdraw, now that he had delivered their guest. He pretended not to notice. He had made the contact. He had arranged the meeting. He had accepted almost all of the risks. He was not going to allow them to separate him in their minds from the potential ally. If they asked him to leave verbally, he would comply, but he didn't expect that. It would show a lack of order and cohesion in the ranks that they wouldn't want to show to outsiders. As expected, they turned their attention to their guest.

The man stepped forward. He had proven himself to Gary to be the head of a large, but as of yet unnamed, faction. He had proven he had vast resources and contacts throughout the fleet. Gary would have preferred evidence that the man was not an Earther, but you couldn't have everything.

"Hello, my friends," he said. "I have come to you today, seeking friendship and cooperation. I know you are the Mars Resistance. I know you have a large organization with vast potential. I know that you are seeking liberty, and an end to the oppression of the elites of Earth. I know that you need friends. I want to be one of those friends."

"You seem to know a lot about us," said one of the council members, turning to look at Gary. Gary imagined a glare pointed at him from behind that darkened visor. "But we know nothing about you. We don't give our trust easily, particularly to Earthers."

"Ah, but you see," responded the man, his tidily cropped mustache twitching with mirth, "I am just like you. My organization and I, like you, have been oppressed by the elites of Earth. And we both have been lied to. Yes, I know you are familiar with many of the lies told by the elites, but here is one you may not be aware of. You have been told that the people of Earth despise you and exploit you. This is not the case."

The man looked around, giving them all a gentle, fatherly smile. "My people were told similar lies. The people of Earth do not hate you, nor do they reap any benefits from your oppression. They are merely the pawns of the Earth elites. Elites who have oppressed Mars, who have oppressed my people, and who have oppressed the peoples of Earth, even as they have brainwashed them into a weapon to be used against us. The same elites who still control this fleet.

"It doesn't have to be that way, my friends. Your organization and mine can help each other to overthrow those shackles. We can take back our future. We may have to fight against the masses of Earth, but we will actually be doing them a favor. We will be heroes, saving them from an oppression they do not yet even realize they are under. We can all have what we want. We just need to remove those controlling this fleet."

Gary saw the members of the council glance around at each other. A few leaned in to whisper quietly with each other. The council member who spoke up before said, "You talk a good game, Earther. But you still haven't answered the question. Who are you? Who do you represent?"

The old man's smile broadened. "My apologies. My name is Drake, and I represent the Psi-Corp.

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 **Hyperspace, leaving the Epsilon Eridani system - Exodus Fleet - October, 2248**

Susan Ivanova sat nervously in the cramped briefing room with forty-seven other people. As far as she could tell, she was far and away the least experienced person in the room, as well as the most isolated. She didn't care, however. She was going to get to be a Starfury pilot, just like Ganya. That was worth any level of isolation. She still had no idea why she was selected, but she wasn't going to take the risk of asking questions.

She looked around at the other pilots. They had formed into four separate groups. The first, and most relaxed looking was a group of twelve, she supposed that meant they were a squadron, active military pilots. She had overheard a few of them comparing experience, and they seemed to be shuttle pilots. She wasn't sure if that applied to all of them, a couple of whom actually appeared to be sleeping!

The next, and by far the most boisterous, group appeared to be civilian pilots. From their bragging, it seemed that some were ex-military, and quite a few were stunt pilots. The third group, of which she was a part, were all cadets. They looked at her with suspicion, however. They were all seniors, and she was the only sophomore. However, she had transferred into the academy from college after Ganya's death, so they were actually the same age.

The final group was made up of telepaths, of all things. She had sat as far from them as possible. And she was far from the only one in the room viewing them with suspicion. If this wasn't probably her only chance to be a pilot, she would have gotten up and walked out. But any amount of stress was worth it for this opportunity. The telepaths were quiet and reserved, yet confident and disciplined. They didn't even look at the rest of the trainees, but seemed to look down on them at the same time. If Susan didn't know better, she would have pegged them for Psi-cops.

The side door opened, and Commander Sinclair, glided into the room. He launched himself towards the lectern, and then grabbed it, swinging himself to a halt behind it. He looked out at each of the trainees, barking, "Attention on deck."

Susan grabbed the desk in front of her and bolted to her feet, into a rigid posture of attention. Her grip on the desk kept her from floating away in the zero g environment. All of the other cadets did likewise, as did the active duty pilots. Only two or three of the civies did, probably the former military folks. The rest of them looked around in confusion. Not a single telepath stood up.

Sinclair scowled. "That means 'get on your feet', children! That's a little trickier in zero g, but if you are in this room you are expected to have both the skill and know how to fall into an attention stance without floating across the room and braining yourself on the nearest bulkhead." The Commander waited while the remained of the room climbed to their feet. "You are joining the Earth Force Fighter Corps, boys and girls, not some after school club. Seats." This time, the entire room managed to sit in unison, not a single person embarrassing themselves by floating up or away in the zero-G conditions.

Once they were all seated, Sinclair continued, "Real Pilots refer to me as the CAG, which means Commander of the Space Fighter Group, even though the acronym no longer fits. When speaking to me, they just say Commander Sinclair. Until I graduate you, you may refer to me as "God". You have all flown before, except for you Cadet Ivanova, but you're about to enter a whole new world, so pay attention. We've got some pretty good flight simulators with the fleet, but you folks are supposed to be a cut above any future recruits we may elect to train. You all have at least some experience and, frankly, you're needed on the firing line. We haven't even left Earth Alliance space yet, not quite, and we're already down over four squadrons of our Starfury pilots. In case you're wondering, that's as close to fifty percent of our starting force as makes no difference. We need replacements, and we need them now. So we're putting you in the cockpit... today."

Susan felt the pit of her stomach drop out. She had never flown a single air or spacecraft in her life, not on her own anyway. Apparently, she was the only one in the room to suffer that limitation. And the Commander was still going to put her behind the stick of a Starfury...today? Even some of the more experienced pilots in the room looked intimidated. She just wanted to crawl under the desk and hide.

Oblivious and probably indifferent to Susan's concerns, the Commander was continuing his briefing. He had turned to a large display screen on the wall behind him. It now lit up with a large image of a Starfury, it's most important components labeled. "This is a SA-23E Mitchell-Hyundyne Starfury, Mark 2. It's as maneuverable as a jackrabbit and can flip end for end in 0.62 seconds. A very few of you have been lucky enough to pilot the Mark 1. Some others have experience with high performance stunt craft. None of you have ever flown anything that truly compares to it, so don't think that you have. Today we will be doing basic launch, approach and landing maneuvers. Anyone not paying attention is liable to end up as a puddle of something to be hosed out of the cockpit by the hangar Chief."

One of the civilians, and attractive young woman with hispanic features, murmured to the man next to her, "He's laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?" The man, clearly former military glared at her.

Sinclair scowled at her as well. "Castillo, isn't it?"

"Yes, God, sir," she replied with a smirk.

"Not any more. From now on, your name is 'Wise Ass', and when God speaks, Wise Ass, you listen. We don't often use call signs. We usually refer to each other by squadron slot, or even last name. But when you earn yourself a call sign, good or bad, it takes an act of God to get it removed. Sit up." Sinclair turned back to the schematic. "The Mark 2 Starfury is armed with dual Copeland JC44 Pulse Discharge cannons, seen here, and eight external hardpoints, capable of mounting a significant variety of munitions. You will learn them all. You will learn to inspect them all. You will learn to mount them all. You will learn the strengths, weaknesses, and optimal uses of each and every one of them, as well as those of the Starfury herself. And when I am done with you, you will fly like the angels." He turned back to the image of the Starfury, continuing to point out it's most important features.

 _Frag me_ , Susan thought to herself. _I'm gonna be a pilot!_


	7. Chapter 6 - The Toll

Chapter 6 - The Toll  
 **  
Quadrant 14, Centauri Space - Exodus Fleet - October, 2248**

The EAS Eratosthenes was the first ship into the system. Commander Sandra Levitt, surveyed the bridge and the officers busy at their various duties. "Report."

Her first officer, recently promoted Lieutenant Commander Janice Kathway, turned and smiled at her. "We nailed the entry, Captain." By long tradition, the master of any naval vessel worthy of being called a ship was referred to as Captain by anyone aboard the ship, regardless of their actual rank. "We're about 40 AU out from the local star, right in the heart of the Kuiper Belt. We should be pretty hard to detect for any Centauri in the system. No sign, as of yet, that anyone has noticed us. We're detecting a large KBO, a dwarf planet, a few million klicks from here. If we put ourselves in its shadow, we should be all but invisible."

Levitt smiled at that. "Plot a course then. Once we're under cover, signal the rest of the fleet to come through. We'll probably be here a while. The fleet needs to go through a serious maintenance and replenishment cycle. We also need to ensure all personnel cycle through one of the centrifugal ships. Not everyone is as lucky as we are," she said, looking around her bridge in appreciation. Her officers were able to walk about the room normally, held down by the centrifugal effects of the Eratosthenes's rotating section. The Explorer class ships were the first vessels in Earth Force to be so equipped. The Omega class destroyer had been planned to have it's own rotating sections, but now those plans would never reach fruition. "I'll bet the crews of our warships are starting to feel the effects of extended zero-G already. Exercise centrifuges can only do so much. Keep a watch out for any sign of the Centauri. We may just have pulled off a miracle."

As the fleet had made it's way through Earth Alliance space, it had become increasingly obvious that the Minbari were not planning on letting them go. They had taken terrible casualties amongst their Starfury pilots, but miraculously hadn't lost a single ship, military or civilian. And now they had finally gotten out of EA space. Better yet, they were now in Centauri space. The Minbari might be rampaging around the EA, but even they would have to think twice about violating Centauri territory.

The Centauri, the first extraterrestrial race humanity had made contact with, was also an old and powerful species, with access to highly advanced technology. Earthgov was firmly convinced that, aside from the Minbari, the Centauri were the most powerful race out there. Well, excepting the Vorlons, of course. But the Vorlons were a special case. The Minbari, the Centauri, even a fool like Michael Jankowski would think twice before aggravating the Vorlons.

The Centauri were friendly with humanity as well, which was always a benefit. Of course, they hadn't been friendly enough to aid the Earth Alliance in its war with the Minbari. She had heard more than one flag officer opine that, if only the Centauri had joined them, the EA might have defeated the Minbari. These same officers were also generally of the opinion that, if a few of the members of the League of Non-Aligned Worlds had joined them, if they could have established the kind of interspecies cooperation they had enjoyed in fighting the Dilgar, the Minbari would also not stand a chance. Given that Levitt knew that most of these officers also secretly felt that the war would be won already, if only _they_ had been put in charge, she tended to ignore them. The fact that both the League and the Centauri were clearly terrified of offending the Minbari ought to have convinced them otherwise. It seemed that some people would simply refuse to give up their preconceived notions, no matter how much the real world tried to show them otherwise.

But, despite that terror, the Centauri would not take kindly to the Minbari violating their territory. They would push back against any intruders. They would argue with them, delay them, rail against any invasion politically. In short, they would probably do anything short of military conflict to get the Minbari to leave. Given the statements of their Ambassador, she doubted they would have the courage to resist the Minbari militarily. On the other hand, Ambassadors spoke peace, while soldiers spoke war. Perhaps the Centauri military might actually draw a military line. Who knew?

What Levitt was certain of, however, was that the Centauri would have absolutely no hesitation in objecting to the current _human_ violation of their territory. The Centauri would also be far more likely to use force against the unsupported human fleet. Human ships were weaker and less advanced than either the Centauri or the Minbari. Further, they were no longer part of a powerful nation. The Earth Alliance was gone. No, the Centauri would most definitely see the human fleet as the less dangerous opponent, but also the greatest cause of danger to their people, as the Minbari would only be coming to chase the humans.

Which was why it was absolutely vital that the fleet not be detected. If the Centauri didn't know they were there, then they couldn't throw the fleet out. Any Minbari incursion would be seen as unjustified. But, if the Centauri detected them, they would feed the humans to the wolves. Sandra would have preferred trying to get a jump or two farther away from Earth Alliance territory and their pursuers, but the fleet really did need time to rest and refit.

Feeling a bit wistful, Levitt found the appropriate controls on her station's panel, and took control of an external camera. It had been keeping an eye on the ship's exterior, but she panned towards the local sun. At this distance, it didn't look like much more than a particularly bright star. She knew there were Centauri farther down into the system, where they could enjoy its the light and warmth. She envied them. For the time being, however, the humans were just going to have to make due with whatever shelter and comfort they could find.  
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Acting Ensign Susan Ivanova strutted into the briefing room, at least as much as it was possible to strut in zero-G. She was exhausted, but had been advised that pilots should always display an air of cocksure confidence. It was part of developing an attitude of invincibility. Apparently that was something combat pilots needed.

Finding her chair, she pulled herself into it gratefully. She knew that, without a gravity source, sitting in a chair wasn't actually more relaxing than just floating around. However, a lifetime of experience informed her brain that sitting was more relaxing, and her brain told her body it was more relaxed, which was all she really needed. She had been in the cramped confines of a Starfury cockpit (where she was also seated, but somehow that didn't count) for the last twelve hours. Flying patrols! She still couldn't believe that she was even allowed in the thing, much less to fly it herself on actual missions. Just over a week ago she had absolutely zero solo flight experience!

The last week had been overwhelming. Terrifying and euphoric and exhausting all at the same time. They had launched immediately into flight training, and just hadn't stopped. The trainees were lucky to get a handful of hours of sleep each night, and grabbed their meals on the go...going into the cockpit, which meant zero-G rations. Susan really hated those, but it was more than worth it to get to fly a Starfury.

Susan, being the least experienced pilot, found herself under the direct tutelage of Commander Sinclair. In most of the missions so far, both the training and the patrols they found themselves flying, she had ended up flying wingman for the Commander. At first, Susan had experienced both resentment and scorn from the other pilots. She was clearly not on their level. Most likely, between her lack of experience and the attention of the Commander, they assumed some type of favoritism. For that matter, it was what she assumed as well, though she had no idea why she would be receiving it.

In the last couple of days, much of the scorn and hostility of the other pilots seemed to have evaporated. This mystified her as well, though she assumed it was due to the workload. When they weren't training they were flying patrols. Actual patrols! Commander Sinclair said that it was good for their development, but he also didn't hide the fact that he was trying to supplement the active duty pilots. Given all of their losses, those pilots were stretched thin, and almost constantly on duty. That was hard on both the crews and the craft. The spillover to the trainees had kept Susan's classmates so busy that she assumed they were just glad for anyone who could help to shoulder the load. As more of the trainee pilots entered the room, a few of them actually nodded to her.

"Attention on deck!" someone barked as Commander Sinclair sailed into the room. As always, he bore a look of grim determination. He also looked tired, though if he was half as tired as Susan felt, he certainly hid it well. This time, unlike that first day, the entire room shot to their feet, standing at attention. Not a single person forgot to anchor themselves in place, so no one found themselves in the embarrassing position of floating away due to the momentum of the movement. That had happened to several of her fellow trainees in the first few days, and they still took some ribbing for it.

"At ease," Sinclair ordered, hooking himself behind the podium and giving them all one of his rare smiles. "I have a treat for you all today. I'd like to introduce you to the pilot with the single highest kill rate against Minbari fighters in the entire Earth Alliance." He turned and gestured to a second man who had entered the room just behind Sinclair. "This is Commander Alfred Bester. I'm sure you have all heard the story. In a single engagement he took down three Nials. Though our fighter losses were heavy, the Minbari were destroyed before they could engage any civilian craft. He and the rest of his squadron saved a lot of lives. I have invited him here today to speak to you about that engagement. Commander," he finished, pushing backwards from the podium to allow Bester to take his place. As the man did so, loud applause broke out from across the room. The telepaths in particular seemed very enthusiastic. _That's odd_ , Susan thought blearily. _They're normally so reserved.  
_  
"Thank you," the man said. "Please take your seats." As the pilots pulled themselves into their chairs, Susan studied the man. He was older than most of the officers in the fleet, though he was far from the point of being one of the "old salts." He was short, but so were most male fighter pilots. A low mass and center of gravity helped, even with modern systems. He was reserved, but had a pleasant smile. He was rather paternal, she thought. "As you know, the fleet was en route to Epsilon Eridani when we picked up a tail, a Minbari Sharlin. While Captain Sheridan was keeping them from closing on us in hyperspace, the fighters of the fleet went to full readiness and prepared for combat, in case the Minbari got past him."

As the man related his story, Susan found herself losing focus. She knew all of this, and she was just so tired that she had a hard time sticking with his tale. In fact, she was struggling just to stay awake. His story was interesting, and she didn't want to miss a single detail, but she just couldn't beat her mind into focus. Her body and brain had both decided they were going to take this opportunity to rest, no matter what she wanted. However, she was Russian, and used to difficulty. Her eyes never drooped, and no one glancing at her could ever have told that she was half asleep. She perked up again when he finally got to the dogfight, relating his maneuvers and those of Minbari and the other squadrons.

Perhaps she was so tired that she was missing something, but his story seemed incomplete. He was clearly a skilled pilot, well versed in combat tactics, but then again so were many Earth Force officers. He had bested them all by scoring three Nial kills; in one battle no less. How had he done it? How had he defeated not just superior armor and firepower, not just superior acceleration and maneuverability, but also a stealth field that made it all but impossible to lock onto the Minbari at anything but the shortest ranges? He didn't seem to say. Maybe she had missed it.

"...and so I snapped over into a hard starboard rotation, and fired off a pair of missiles and Pulse cannons. It was firing back, and it's first salvo took off one of my wings. It's second mangled another. It was so close that my missiles actually bracketed it, but my Pulser fire was hitting dead on...and not penetrating the armor. It was lined up for the final shot that would have killed me, when my Pulsers finally punched through, destroying the craft. Of course, it was so close when it was detonated that my Starfury was engulfed in the fireball. A lot of the shrapnel that used to be a Minbari fighter bounced off my craft, nearly caving in my canopy, and blowing every one of my environmental seals. There's a good reason we send you out in space suits, ladies and gentlemen. I was quite certain that I was dead, but as it turned out, fate was smiling on me. And so here we are." The Commander smiled and nodded to the class and then pushed backward from the podium.

He was replaced by Commander Sinclair, who said, "That's all the time we have. You will each get a chance to meet Commander Bester as you leave. Dismissed."

 _What?_ Susan looked around. _No Q &A session? That's odd._ Oh well, at least she could go rack out and get some sleep now. She stood up and got in line to file past Commander Bester, who was standing in the doorway and shaking hands with each of the trainees as they left the room. She stifled a yawn as she approached her turn to meet the Commander. Glancing around idly, she noted his gloved hands. _That's odd_ , she thought again. _Those aren't standard issue flight gloves.  
_  
And then it was her turn to meet him. As she held out her hand for a shake, her eyes suddenly widened and snapped down to his hand. They weren't standard issue flight gloves, she realized, but she knew exactly where they _were_ standard issue. What could she do?

Too late. He gripped her hand, and she looked up, eyes widening in horror as an electrical tingle shot up her arm. His brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, and then he tipped his head slightly to the side and seemed to look right into her soul. She felt something small awaken and unfurl behind her eyes. Her heart sank. _Frag_.

"Well now," he murmured. "Isn't _that_ interesting."  
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"You can't have her!" Commander Sinclair said angrily. They were meeting privately in one of the squadron ready rooms.

" _Commander_ ," Bester chided reprovingly. "She's a telepath. There are...protocols."

"I don't give a damn about your protocols. The PsiCorp is a thing of the past. We'll find new ways of working with telepaths. And need I remind you that you are no longer a Psi-Cop? You're an officer in Earth Force. Your top priority should be what's best for the Force, and she is a critical asset. She's got the best skills I've ever seen. You can't take her out of this class!"

"I wasn't proposing to end her training, just begin additional training. She needs to learn how to be a telepath."

"She's busy enough as it is."

"She'll just have to be busier then. This training is required by law. I believe that law still applies, unless you can convince the Captains' Council to rescind it. Keep in mind, if she goes on the Sleepers she'll be completely worthless as a pilot."

"Damnit Commander, this is about the survival of the fleet."

"Yes, it is. Commander Sinclair...Jeff...don't you see that this could be a good thing, for the fleet as well as for her? I know she's terrified right now, but that will pass once she sees that we're not monsters. And before you say that we are, let me remind you that you just acknowledged that the Psi-Corp is no more, and that we are finding new ways to work with telepaths."

"What are you proposing?"

"She'll need to be moved to the Mother." Sinclair started to object, but Bester held up his hand to forestall him. "The only telepaths she has contact with here are former Psi-Cops. I assume you don't want her being indoctrinated by those?" he asked rhetorically. "Good. On the Mother, she can be surrounded by kinder, gentler telepaths. People more like her. They can teach her, support her. And they can help prevent her from broadcasting her dreams while she sleeps, something which happens to many awakening teeps. I assume you wouldn't want one of my former Psi-Cops bunking with her, which would need to be the case if she stayed here."

"You assume correctly."

"Good. She's already assigned her own Starfury. She can use it to shuttle over to the Midway and back each day for her training. Consider it a little extra cockpit time to further refine her skills."

"You said something about this being good for the fleet?"

"Do you remember what you asked me about enhancing telepath efficacy in fighter combat?"

"You mean Project TeepFighter?"

"Yes. Have I mentioned that I _hate_ that name?"

"You can thank Garibaldi for that. He thought of it. It's a spin off of some ancient game he used to play."

"Why am I not surprised? Regardless Commander, recall that you wanted to find a way to distribute the information the telepath gathered, so that the mundane pilots around him could also target the Minbari. You proposed breaking up Black Omega and the new telepath trainees and distributing them amongst the existing squadrons, so that every flight could be centered around at least one telepath."

"I don't know about centered, but yes, that was the idea."

"Well, I told you at the time that it was impossible. Telepathy doesn't give us coordinates that we can input into a targeting computer. It interfaces with the body's natural kinesthesis to give us the feel of a direction. You can't communicate that over a radio. But, at your request, I've been thinking about it. It occurred to me that you _could_ transmit the feeling telepathically."

Sinclair scowled at the idea, but said, "So it _will_ work?"

"Within limits. The mundane pilots will need to be trained to receive the signal, which means we will need to bring them all into the loop. Also, we're already using all former Psi-Cops...mostly P12s, with some P10s and P11s thrown in, because just detecting the Minbari in this way is very difficult. Adding the need to transmit that information, across the significant distance between fighters and often without direct eye contact, that is going to be even more of a strain. There is no way a telepath could support an entire flight. At best, he or she will be able to transmit to a single individual...their wingman. Which, of course, means that we won't have enough teeps to go around. We're going to need to start training more as soon as the current class graduates. That's where Ensign Ivanova comes in, actually."

"You just said that only the most powerful telepaths could do the job. I thought you said the Ensign was very weak?"

"She is. A P1, P2 at best. She could never detect the Minbari on her own. But what she can do, is be much easier to transmit to than any mundane….ah...normal. I'm sure all of the P12's can handle it, but the P11s might not and the P10s will certainly struggle. If one of them is having a hard time making the connection with a...normal...pilot, then we can pair him or her with the Ensign. And if they are all able to make the connection, well, even better. There are only so many former Psi-Cops available, and they aren't all suited to space fighter combat. We might need to try bringing in other P10s or P11s. Without having gone through Psi-Cop training, they'll have a harder time of it. Susan, and perhaps others like her, could be the bridge to make them viable as transmitters."

"So we could eventually have every normal paired with a telepath?"

"Eventually….perhaps. And then all we would have to worry about when fighting the Minbari is their superior firepower...and superior armor. Oh, and superior acceleration. And did I mention their superior maneuverability? Yes, we'll be entirely carefree once we have every normal paired with a telepath," Bester finished with a small smirk.

Sinclair glowered at him. "At least we'll have a fighting chance."

"Yes, at least there is that. So, can I assume your objections to Ensign Ivanova's relocation have been withdrawn?"  
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Susan drifted disconsolately down the corridors of the Mother. She was carrying her duffle and everything she owned in the world. No, that wasn't right. In the fleet. The world was gone, destroyed by the Minbari. She fought back tears. _I'm Russian! I should expect hardship._ But this just wasn't fair. She had tried so hard to avoid her mother's fate, and it had just come up and shaken her hand while she was half asleep.

She had considered going on the Sleepers, but Commander Sinclair had asked her not to. He had told her the Psi-Corp was dead, that it wouldn't be like it had with her mother, that things were changing. He had told her she was vital to the war effort, that she would still get to be a pilot, that he would be looking out for her. She just had to stick it out and relocate to the Mother, to learn how to be a telepath.

"If you take the Sleepers," he had said, "you won't be able to continue as a pilot. They just dull you too much. I think you know that."

She did. That's the only reason she was here. She had to continue being a pilot. She had to carry on Ganya's legacy. After everything else, this was the one thing she simply _couldn't_ lose.

One of the seals on her duffle had come undone. She hadn't been particularly focused on the safety checks that would normally catch such things. An errant sock slipped loose and began to float down the corridor, pulled along by the slight breeze from the air circulators. She was forced to dart ahead and snatch it out of the air. The Mother was entirely zero-G. The Midway was also zero-G, but when she had been aboard the Olympic centrifugal spin had replicated gravity. So now she had to worry about bone deterioration and space sickness on top of everything else.

 _Quit feeling sorry for yourself._ She looked up and realized that she had arrived. She double checked the number on the hatch with the code she had been issued. This was her room...dorm, technically. At least she wasn't in a barracks with a hundred other cadets. That was a small slice of hell.

She opened the hatch and swung through. It was clearly airtight, and meant to preserve the lives of anyone inside in the event of a general loss of atmosphere on the ship. Inside the room were two young women, both roughly her age. Both were gorgeous. A thin, leggy redhead was reading a book, reclining in middle of the 3 bunks stacked vertically along the far wall. Seated at a combination desk and console along the right hand side of the room, a more curvaceous blond was playing some sort of computer game. She wanted to hate them both immediately, especially given how neat and elegant they both looked, even lounging in zero-G. However, the most she could manage was mild annoyance. She was just too drained by the rollercoaster of emotions she had undergone, and they were both smiling at her pleasantly. She really needed to see friendly faces right now, even if those faces were telepaths. For that matter, why should she still be hostile towards telepaths? The whole point of that had been to not get caught and face her mother's fate. That cat was already out of the bag, and she had chosen not to use the Sleepers. She was one of them now.

The blonde was standing up and extending her ungloved hands. "Hi. You must be Susan. I'm Talia. Talia Winters." Susan was still wearing her flight glove so, with just a little hesitation, she shook the woman's hand. There was no telepathic connection, as there had been with Commander Bester. She sighed with relief. "I'm excited to be your roomie. I want to hear all about you. It must be very exciting to be a fighter."

The redhead looked up in annoyance, and then swung herself up and out of the bunk. "It's fighter _pilot_ dummy. A _fighter_ is what she flies. I would think you'd know that given who you're dating. You need to pay attention." She smiled at Susan and held out her own hand. "Lyta Alexander. And we're not just your roommates. We were selected to help you get accustomed to your abilities, and learn how to use and control them."

Susan shook her hand, and again there was a lack of telepathic contact. _Thank God for flight gloves. I guess I'll have to get a set of telepath gloves as well._

"Eventually," Lyta said.

"What?"

"You'll have to get a set of telepath gloves eventually, but you are free to go without them here."

Susan dropped the woman's hand as though it had burned her, and took a big step backwards towards the door. "You can't just read my mind anytime you want!" she said angrily.

Lyta smiled sadly. "I wasn't. You were broadcasting. That's something we can help you with."

Susan looked at her suspiciously, then glanced at Talia. The blond gave her an understanding nod and said, "You've been broadcasting quite a bit since you came through the door. You've got plenty of curves yourself, you know. Between the three of us, the men don't stand a chance. And I appreciate that you can't bring yourself to hate us. Perhaps we can grow that into a friendship."

Susan went beet red, but asked, "And what exactly is in it for you?"

Lyta smiled and tossed herself back into her bunk. "Well, if you must know, training you gets the both of us out of kitchen duties. Not that we were exactly overloaded with work. There are a lot more people available than jobs to go around. Even though people don't really get paid, work is parcelled out to keep them busy. Many people are complaining that there isn't enough work to do. Workaholics, I guess. I'd just as soon not have to scrub pots in zero-G, thank you very much."

Talia chipped in, "Jason even says we might get to accompany you to the Midway, on days when you have class work, rather than flight operations."

"Jason?"

"Yeah, he's my….friend." Lyta snickered, but Talia ignored her and continued, "Jason Ironheart. You'll meet him in a bit, if you haven't already. He's a pilot with Black Omega squadron. That's the telepath squadron, in case you didn't know."

Susan hadn't know, which is why she had been completely oblivious about Commander Bester. She knew better now, but it was far too late.

"It's not so bad being a telepath," Lyta said. "You'll see. We're kind of a family. The Corp was the overbearing parents, father and mother. That's probably why this ship is named Mother. But the Corp seems to have been dismantled, leaving us all a lot more freedom. I'm not sure it will last, but we're going to enjoy it while we can. No, what we really need to worry about it Normal prejudice. I heard there have been some attacks in the fleet. Maybe even some murders. Security is keeping it pretty hushed up though."

"They can't kill us all," Talia said. "We make up a huge portion of the fleet. The teep to normal ratio is unbelievable," she added in astonishment. "The people in charge of the fleet must really like telepaths. I'd love to meet General Lefcourt. He's clearly not prejudiced against telepaths."

"Good luck," Susan said, starting to relax. These ladies and their lighthearted banter were kind of infectious. "From what I hear, the poor man is working himself to death. He hasn't had time for any public functions for weeks. I hope he's taking care of his health. We can't afford to lose him."

"I hope so to," Lyta chimed in. "Though I don't mind that Nuke 'em Sheridan has become the face of the fleet. That man is hot!"

"You need a boyfriend," Talia chided. "Since I have one, I can take the feminist perspective and extol the superior virtues of Captain Lochley and Captain Levitt."

"They're both Commanders, actually." Susan said.

"What? I thought you had to be a Captain to command a ship?"

"No. You get to be called Captain by your crew, but it doesn't change your actual rank. Captain Gideon is only a Lieutenant Commander. Now _he's_ hot," Susan added, then immediately blushed a deep red again.

"You're cute." Talia said. "We are definitely going to be friends! Top bunk."

"Excuse me?"

"I've got the top bunk. You're on the bottom. That's your footlocker over there."

Susan began to stow her gear, when there was a banging on the hatch. Lyta called, "Come in."

A man of mixed African and European descent opened the hatch, floated in and studied them. "A Black man walks into a room with a blond, a brunette, and a redhead. Now that's the start of a beautiful story!"

Lyta snorted, but Talia shot over to the man. "In your dreams, Ironheart!" Then she kissed him...very vigorously.

"Well," Ironheart said breathlessly, once the kiss had ended. "Now I'm going to feel like a true heel. Sorry, Tali, but I have to cancel our lunch. I've got a meeting with Bester. Raincheck?"

"Sure," she responded. "I should get to know Susan anyway."

Ironheart's attention turned to Susan, and he held out his hand. Once she shook it he said, "Jason Ironheart. It's good to finally meet you, Ivanova. I hear very good things. It sounds like you might just end up as my wingman."

"Wingwoman," Lyta interjected.

"No such thing," Susan advised her. "Wingman is an official term. We're not allowed to use wingwoman or wingperson. The brass says that it's for brevity. Like the extra syllable might get someone killed or something. Being Russian, I can say with authority that it is a relic of the patriarchal past."

Lyta's smile broadened. "You I'm really going to like."  
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"Enter." Bester called at the knock on the door to his office. Lieutenant Ironheart entered and stood at attention. "At ease," he commanded. "You've been doing very well Lieutenant. Have you read the file I provided you."

"Thank you, and yes, sir, I have. Project TeepFighter?"

"A name thought up by a very mundane mundane. But you understand why this project might be extremely difficult for anyone below a P12?"

"Yes, Commander. Isn't that why you mentioned I might get Ensign Ivanova as a wingman? Because it would be easier to connect with her?"

"It is, but we might have another option. One which you might be uniquely suited to."

"Sir?"

"What I'm about to tell you is extremely classified, Jason. Not in the military way. This is a telepath secret. No mundanes can find out, but it might mean the difference between this fleet's destruction, and it's survival."

"I'll do whatever it takes, sir."

"Good. I'm very proud of you Lieutenant. This project is so secret, it doesn't even have a name. What it does have, is vast potential. Our scientists have come up with a series of...treatments. Treatments which might just enhance your telepathy. Make you a P11. Maybe even a P12. I doubt it will be comfortable. But it will be groundbreaking, and you will be a hero."

Ironheart smiled. "Who could ask for more than that, sir?"  
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 **Quadrant 24, Narn Space - Exodus Fleet - November, 2248**

Once again, the EAS Eratosthenes was the first ship into the system. Commander Sandra Levitt called out to her first officer. "Report."

Lieutenant Commander Janice Kathway, called out her report. "Smooth entry, Captain. Minimal signature. With luck the Narn won't have seen us." "We're only twenty AU out from the local star. There's a lot of gas and dust in the area. I doubt the Narn detected us. No sign, as of yet, that anyone has noticed us."

"Keep your eye's open." Levitt ordered. "The Narn are said to be establishing a fleet base in this system. They probably have a lot of defenses in the area."

"We've got a small gas giant less than a million klicks from here. We must have hit the bullseye with our entry. We can play hide and seek behind it, just like before."

"Sounds like a plan. Head for the planet. Once we're there, start bringing the fleet in."  
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A few hours later the Eratosthenes was in place, and had signaled the fleet. Levitt watched as the brilliant hues of a jump point blossomed in space, and the EAS Lexington slid back into normal space. Civilian vessels began to slide out behind it.

Sandra heard a beeping from the sensor station, signalling for attention. Ensign Sakai was pulling duty at the moment. She looked up sharply and said, "Captain, we have three Narn vessels swinging around the planet. One of their heavy cruisers and a pair of destroyers. Looks like…. A G'Quan and two Ka'Tocs."

"Captain, we're being hailed," Kathway called. "The Narn want to talk."

Sandra sighed. "Patch in the Lexington. I'll definitely want Commander Lochley's backup on this one."

"Lexington linked in, Captain," the Comms officer called out.

"Push it to my panel." A moment later her personal display came up with a split screen, the left hand side displaying Commander Elizabeth Lochley, seated in the Captain's Chair on the Lexington. On the right was the smiling red eyed face of a Narn who seemed somewhat familiar.

"Oh, two of you," he said. "How lovely. And both women. I am indeed a lucky man. Here I was, just out for a stroll, and I said to myself, G'Kar, that looks interesting. Let's see what's over there. And here you are! Imagine my surprise."

"Out for a stroll?" Lochley asked. "In a G'Quan heavy cruiser?"

"One should always be prepared when strolling. One never knows when one will run into bandits, or others who don't belong."

Levitt grimaced. _God I hate diplomats_ , she thought to herself. The Narn's name had finally awoken her memory. This was Ambassador G'Kar, formerly assigned to Earth, so at least he was familiar with humans. The rumor mill said that he may have even provided advanced weaponry to Earth. Those schematics in their databanks for a powerful new Battle Laser had to have come from somewhere. The weapon had been slated to go on the Omega class destroyer, along with the new energy mines, and rotational gravity. It was too bad they had never managed to get a prototype up and running. They could really use a ship like that with the fleet. _And if wishes were Starfuries_ , she told herself, _beggars would fly_. Focus. At least he would likely be friendly to humanity. "How fortunate then, that we are just harmless travellers, passing through, rather than bandits from whom you would need to defend yourself."

"Yes, how very fortunate indeed. I hadn't thought to meet humans, female or otherwise, again. Some unpleasantness with the Minbari, if memory serves. Captains, perhaps you should shuttle over to my ship, and we can discuss the nature of your visit."

His oily manner reminded her of a used transport salesman. And that look in his eye, was it... _Good Lord_... _lecherous_?! Sandra cleared her throat. "My apologies, ambassador, but I'm afraid my duties prevent me from leaving my vessel, just now. We have a lot of civilian craft which we need to shepherd and support, as you can see."

G'Kar's eyes shifted to Lochley, that oily smile still plastered on his face. The woman was already glaring daggers at him. "Pass," she said curtly.

"Ah, well, down to business then. I find your situation odd," he responded. "Travellers usually stick to the travel routes, and do not skulk around in the dark outskirts of a system, particularly one of a sensitive military nature. And, while your civilian ships are probably harmless, can the same be said about a heavy cruiser and a massive exploration craft? How many more warships do you plan to bring into Narn territory?"

Lochley cut in, "I assure you Ambassador, we mean no harm. We just want to pass through."

"Perhaps that is true, but can the same be said of the Minbari? If they chase you into our territory and discover you here, they may assume we are aiding you. Who knows what they would do? I would be remiss in my duty, if I did not consider this danger to my people."

Sandra sighed. "Please Ambassador. We're refugees. We don't want to burden you. We're just looking to pass through your territory to try to get to safety. The risk is small."

"And did your people think the risk was small when you went blundering uninvited into Minbari territory? My people have already risked too much for yours. We provided you with weaponry. We facilitated a meeting between yourselves and the Minbari. No, if they find you here, they are likely to assume we are your allies. How do you suppose they would react then?"

"Then we will pass through as quickly as possible."

G'Kar leaned back in his seat. "Are you certain you do not wish to join me aboard my vessel? I find these types of discussions are always so much more fruitful during a...personal interface."

Levitt closed her eyes in aggravation for a moment. Before she opened them again she heard Elizabeth say, "If I do come over G'Kar, it will only be to add to my personal collection of severed sex organs. I collect them from weasels who try to use their positions to take advantage of women. I don't have a Narn one yet. Is it spotted?"

G'Kar burst out laughing. "Delightful. I like you. Which only makes it more tragic that I must insist you turn around and head back to your own space."

"We didn't come directly from our space," Sandra said desperately. "We went through Centauri space first. The Minbari are more likely to go there than here."

"Excellent. Then I encourage you to go back there, and do your best to be spotted. If you could touch off a war, which you seem quite skilled at, then the Narn would be eternally grateful. I would ensure there was a holiday in your honor. We would drink Taree and feast on Breen in memory of your glorious sacrifice."

"We'd really prefer less sacrifice and more survival."

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before attacking the Minbari!" G'Kar snapped. "Every race tried to warn you. Even the Centauri cautioned you. But you blundered ahead anyway. I'm not sure if that is greater parts arrogance or stupidity. How skillful of you to package them together so successfully."

Levitt gritted her teeth for a moment, then took a breath. She shot a warning glare at Elizabeth, before the woman could open her mouth again and make things worse. Then, taking a deep breath, she met the Narn's gaze directly and asked, "What do you want?"

G'Kar's expression transformed into a minute grin. "Now that truly is an _excellent_ question.  
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"So, what do they want?" Sheridan asked. The fleet was still slowly spilling into the system, now watched over by a dozen Narn warships. The Nova was still in hyperspace, guarding the rear of the column, but Sheridan had rushed forward aboard a shuttle, so that the Captains' Council could convene in person aboard the Midway.

"What they want," Commander Levitt said testily, "is a great many things. What we argued them down to is our supply of Quantium 40. Pretty much all of it."

"What!? That's ridiculous. That stockpile is worth a fortune. And we'll need it for jump drive repair and new construction once we reestablish ourselves."

"That's true, John," Elizabeth spoke up, smiling sweetly. "And Sandra and I have an idea. Would you be willing to seduce the Narn Ambassador? Perhaps have a little three-way with Mr. Garibaldi?" Michael threw her a horrified look.

"What?! Don't be crass, Liz. Of course not, don't be ridiculous."

"Well neither are we," she snapped, the smile fleeing from her face. "So shut up and take the deal."

Commander Sinclair cleared his throat uncomfortably. "And what do we get for our side of this arrangement?"

"The Narn have agreed to grant us free passage through their space, though no support. They will not tell the Minbari we were here, though they _encourage_ us to be on our way as quickly as possible."

Sinclair nodded. "Alright then. All those in favor?" Six hands went up immediately. Reluctantly, throwing an irritated glance at Lochley, Sheridan finally raised his hand as well. "It's unanimous then. Well, as long as we are here, what other business do we need to discuss?"

Levitt spoke up. "I think we are at the point where we need to decide on our destination."

"That's easy," Sheridan said. "We head through Centauri space and into the former Orieni territory."

"That's not your decision, John," Lochley snapped. "I thought we were clear that you weren't running this show. Some of us might have alternative opinions."

"It makes the most sense," he said doggedly. "The Centauri are the only people strong enough to act a a real buffer against the Minbari. Unless you want to throw us on the questionable mercies of the Vorlons. But if that was the case we'd still have to head in the same direction. What's more, these Orieni fought the Centauri to a standstill. They might provide an additional layer of protection."

"Or a massive new threat. We should head for Dilgar space. We know there are at least three worlds there we could step right into. And the territory is surrounded by species who would be friendly. Who owe us for stopping the Dilgar."

"Species who haven't lifted a finger during this war. How much can we really trust them? Especially if the Minbari come calling. And those worlds? Barely capable of sustaining a colony. Why do you think the Dilgar launched their war? They knew their star was going Nova, and their colony worlds couldn't sustain a mass exodus. And that was before those worlds were irradiated by a nearby nova. That's not a chance for humanity to rebuild, it's a chance to wither on the vine."

"At least it is a chance," Levitt interrupted. "You want to take us into the front lines of a war that never really ended, it just became unsustainable. We'll be caught in the middle if that war ever flares up again, or swallowed up by one side or the other. And that's assuming we even find a habitable planet to take possession of."

"The Orieni and Centauri haven't run into each other for centuries. It's unlikely a war will break out just because we enter the area. And we know from Centauri history that several prime homeworlds were rendered uninhabitable by bombardment. But that was centuries ago. By now, dust and radiation will have subsided. If some life survived, it will have had the opportunity to spring back. We're talking about potential paradises, ones where humanity can have the opportunity to spring back as well. And, let's be frank, the presence of resources left behind by the previous inhabitants would be a major benefit for us."

"Unless, the Orieni or Centauri decide to object to us scavenging their former worlds," Bester broke in quietly. "And we _would_ be scavengers. I've found that people have a tendency to frown on grave robbers."

Sheridan was clearly getting frustrated. "Then we work it out diplomatically. They might see the benefit of having a buffer between their two Empires. Hell, we might find that the Orieni make great allies. We know they were a multispecies, cosmopolitan Empire. That seems like a step up from the League of NonAligned Worlds."

"They were also fundamentalist religious extremists," Lochley interjected hotly, "who conquered worlds and forced them to join their empire, convert to their religion and fight for their cause. Is that what you want for our descendants? To be janissaries in an alien jihad?"

Garibaldi spoke up, "If we go to Orieni space, we _might_ have a warlike power beating down our door. If we go to Dilgar space, we _will_ have one, because the Minbari know that area, and the League is too scared to keep them out."

"Alright folks, let's not get too worked up," Sinclair said. "This fleet needs us to keep our heads. We have some strong opinions, but in the end it will come down to a vote. I think we've heard both arguments pretty well, but before we vote, does anyone want to discuss alternative destinations? Captain Sheridan was joking, but does anyone think it would be a good idea to try going to the Vorlons?" The question was met with silence. "No? Alright then, I call the vote. All those in favor of heading for Dilgar space, please raise your hands." Lochley, Levitt, and Bester raised their hands. "All those in favor of heading for Orieni space?" Sheridan, Sinclair, and Garibaldi raised their hands.

All eyes again turned towards Gideon as the deciding vote. He sat, staring contemplatively at the bulkhead, his chin cupped in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he shrugged and slowly lifted his hand. "The final vote is four to three in favor of Orieni space."

"Fine," Lochley said. "I move that future council sessions be held on one of the civilian liners. Meeting on this ship gives a home court advantage to certain participants."

Sheridan mumbled something about being a sore loser under his breath, but Sinclair said, "I think that's a good idea. It might lower tensions a bit. Besides, if we have to take the time to move around the fleet, we might as well take the opportunity to get under spin. Commander Levitt has an unfair advantage on us," he said, smiling.

Garibaldi perked up and said, "I know of a space we could commandeer aboard the Olympic. I could set it up."

"Actually," Lochley interrupted, "I think Lieutenant Commander Gideon should do the honors."

"Excuse me?" Gideon asked, looking up at her.

"This is your ship, and you've been good enough to host these sessions. I know I just raised the concern about an unfair advantage, but it's also unfair of me to just rip this duty away from you, especially after the work you have put in. You should have the honor of arranging the meetings aboard the Olympic."

"Well..." Gideon temporized, looking a bit confused, "okay?" Sheridan gave her a speculative look, but didn't say anything.

"Now that that's settled," Sinclair said, we have one last piece of business. Lieutenant Commander Garibaldi has some updates for us. Before we get to that, I'd like to take a ten minute recess for refreshment. Any objections?"  
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"What are you up to, Liz?" Levitt asked darting over to stand by her new friend. "You've clearly got something up your sleeve. Spill!"

"I don't like the way, the power structure on this Council is shaping up. It's starting to look like the important votes will always be you, me, and Bester, getting outvoted by the rest."

"Gideon voted with us on the formation of the Council."

"No, he didn't. He withheld his vote on passing full command authority to John. It's not the same thing. Since then he has voted with Sinclair, Sheridan, and Garibaldi on almost every vote."

"A lot of those votes were unanimous."

"Which doesn't change the fact that an unassailable power block seems to be forming. If we want to make sure that wiser heads, ours, exert some restraint over this fleet, we're going to have to break up that boys' club."

"And you have a plan for that, I take it?"

"Possibly. Part of it is just moving the Council off of the Midway. It really is a home court advantage. And since Sinclair, Garibaldi, and Gideon all work closely together here, it puts them in the mindset of being on a team."

"And the other part?"

"Let's just say that I'm working on something."

"Don't do anything stupid, Liz."

"Where's the fun in that?"  
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Once they were reconvened, Garibaldi stood up and went to the front of the room. "There's a number of things ongoing which you should all be aware of. The least of these is the conduct of the troops." A murmur went around the room, but he held up his hands. "I know each of you run tight ships, and keep a close eye on the conduct of the officers and enlisted. What you don't always see is their conduct off of your ships. You've been giving leave in the form of day passes to the civilian liners. It's a good idea. It get's them under spin and they definitely need the release. But they're maybe releasing a little too much.

"You've got to remember what these people have been through... _are_ going through. Some of them just head for the nearest watering hole, and crawl inside a bottle. We find them passed out, drunk all over the fleet. And then there are those who drink just enough to get mean and start brawling. Or those who start suffering flashbacks. We've got people diving under tables and chairs, screaming about the Minbari breaching the perimeter. And those are better than the ones we find curled up in foetal positions, hiding in the duct work, or attempting to build kill zones in the maintenance passages. And all of these folks have to be gathered in by my security personnel, and brought to extremely overcrowded detention centers, sobered up, and then let go for their next duty shift.

"And then there's the GroPos and the Jar Heads. They have all of the same problems as the fleet personnel, with far less to do. I spoke with their officers, and there's only so much maintenance and training that can be done on a fleet like this. Even cleaning can wear out a weapon if it is done often enough. They have an inordinate amount of free time, just sitting around and waiting to be killed if the Minbari catch up to us, with nothing they can actually do about it. Both of those things tend to make us infantry types grumpy. And when you combine grumpy with free time, what you have is troops wandering all over the fleet looking to start trouble. Vandalism, theft, brawling, and aggressive pursuit of sexual companionship. We've had a few charges of rape so far, but my investigations to date have shown that the incidents probably went up to the line, but didn't cross it. Having a high percentage of female troopers is good for that at least. Most of the boys have learned to respect the ladies, or have their gonads kicked in. I'd hate to be managing one of those Old Earth armies that was strictly male. They must have been completely out of control. On the other hand, we also had a few instances of _female_ troopers pushing that line, so I guess no gender's perfect. Sorry ladies," he said, nodding to Lochley and Levitt.

"Anyway, the brawling has been the worst in that regards. We've had squads of GroPos actually _picking_ fights with my security forces...just for the fun of it. All of these things are not good for civilian morale, or trust in the military forces protecting them. Yes, that includes all of you.

"Which brings me to my second point. The civilian fleet is a ticking time bomb. Or rather, the civilians are. We've managed to tamp down the hostilities so far, but things aren't good out there. The Earthers hate the Marsies and the Marsies hate the Earthers. The Deep Spacers hate them both. Everybody hates the telepaths, who seem to be everywhere, and nobody seems to know just _what_ the telepaths think, except that some of them seem to be smug asshats. Oh, sorry, Commander," he said, nodding to Bester. "Present company included."

"Garibaldi," Sinclair snapped.

"Sorry," He replied to Sinclair. Looking back to Bester, he apologized, "I'm sorry Commander, Bester. Sometimes my mouth has a mind of it's own."

"That's alright, Garibaldi. I've seen your mind. The one your mouth uses is the superior choice."

"If we could continue," Sheridan growled, spreading a glare between Bester and Garibaldi, "we are covering important matters, and we all have a lot of work to get back to."

"Yes, well," Garibaldi continued, "as I was saying, there's a lot of hostility out there. We've had a surprising number of murders, and I'm pretty sure we have a serial killer or killers preying on telepaths. The designers of the fleet didn't anticipate this kind of thing. We've got plenty of beat cops, but a very limited number of detectives and real investigators, and most of those we picked up from the Mars evac, which means the bulk of the population doesn't trust them at all. I've raised up some junior officers, folks who aren't "tainted" by all of these hatreds. But this fleet is one good spark away from open rioting and civilian warfare."

"What do we do about it," Lochley asked. "I hope you've come with suggestions, and not just problems."

"Yes. But I don't have the authority to implement these ideas, which is why I wanted to speak with all of you. The military issues are the easiest to solve, as far as we _can_ solve them.

"One thing the fleet organizers got right was how stressful this would all be on the civilians. So they packed us to the brim with counselors, therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, and general headshrinkers. And they're all bored out of their minds, because the civilians don't trust them, and are too busy hating each other to do something as practical as talk to a professional about what's bothering them.

"My first suggestion is that you make it mandatory that all fleet and infantry personnel see a professional counselor at least twice a month. This'll give the eggheads something to do, might actually help our people to deal with their issues, and will get military personnel travelling around the fleet to do something other than trouble making, which should help improve the civilian view of the military. Not to mention, it will get your people under spin more, which should help maintain their effectiveness. It will also show the civilians that the doctor is in, and maybe get them to seek counselling as well. Doc Franklin's been bugging me about this for weeks now. He should probably be on this Council, by the way."

"Let's hold off on suggestions regarding expanding the Captains' Council for the time being," Sheridan said. "Your other idea, or Franklin's idea, I take it, has a lot of merit."

"It'll put a lot of strain on our crew rotations," Lochley interjected. "That's a lot of time to be taking people off of the job. It's also a lot of fuel, shuttling people from ship to ship."

"Fuel we've got in plentiful supply," Garibaldi said. "As for crew rotations, I want to make it even worse. My second suggestion, to complement the first, is to give your people more leave time, for much the same reason as the first. They need time to process and blow off steam, and they need to be seen by, and interact with, the civilian populace in a positive way."

"We don't have the personnel to allow for that," Lochley cut in again.  
"What about…" Gideon said thoughtfully, "what about the Junior Year Service Project?"

"Cadets?" Lochley asked skeptically. "You want to cycle cadets onto my ship?"

None of the Captains seemed particularly thrilled by that idea, but Gideon continued, "Well, why not? You need the extra personnel. The cadets need the experience. They were supposed to be training on a ship anyway, but we didn't have a ship to train them on, you know, evacuation and all, so they've just been sitting around doing classroom work. Well, let's put them to work. We can assign a chunk of them to each ship. And before someone makes a snarky comment about cadets, try and remember that technically I still am one, and that cadets are all but running the Midway."

"I'll take as many as you want to assign me," Levitt spoke up. "And let me remind everyone that my folks have been under spin this whole trip. If my people need leave, yours certainly do. Call the vote."

Sinclair looked ambivalent, but asked, "All those in favor of both of Garibaldi's ideas put forward?" Other than Levitt and Garibaldi, no one seemed particularly enthusiastic, but in the end the motion was unanimous. "What else, Michael?"

"We solve two problems with one stone. The fleet's under martial law. So let's get martial. I want to take the most experienced and disciplined of our Marines and GroPos and turn them into acting Law Enforcement and Security personnel. I've got plenty of real cops to act as instructors and advisors, to prevent them from going too gung-ho and stepping over any lines. We start stationing them in public areas and high traffic location. A visible reminder that the people are both watched and protected, and that the military folks do more than just frag and fight."

"And I suppose you would be in command of these additional forces, Mr. Garibaldi?" Bester asked.

"Who else?"

"It just seems like a lot of power to put into one man's hands. Besides infantry aren't really the best choice for dealing with serial killers. If you need more investigators, may I remind you that I have a number of former Psi-Cops who could be called upon, and would likely have the problem resolved quite quickly."

"How? By performing unauthorized scans on the general populace?" Garibaldi spat. "No thank you."

"Isn't a reduction of civilian rights the whole point of martial law?"

Sinclair called both matters to a vote. "In that matter of tasking high discipline infantry units with Law Enforcement responsibilities under the command of the current fleet Head of security, all in favor?" Only Bester, Lochley, and Levitt failed to raise their hands. "Motion passes. On the matter of calling up former Psi-Cops to aid in ongoing criminal investigations, all in favor?" This time the vote was just the opposite, with only Bester, Lochley, and Levitt raising their hands. "Motion fails. We're running out of time, Michael. Anything else?"

"Last thing, I promise," Garibaldi said. "But, it's a big one. The fleet is rife with rumors. No one has seen Lefcourt in weeks, and the excuses are wearing thin. If the news of his death breaks on it's own, we'll have lost all credibility with the civilians. I think it's time to go public."

That lead to a flurry of argument, with various members trying to shout each other down. Sinclair finally grew frustrated and pounded on the table. "Focus, people. This is a real problem. Does anyone have any alternative suggestions?"

"I've got a pretty good programmer on the Eratosthenes," Levitt said hesitantly. "I could have her link Lefcourt's image with an AI. We have the hardware available. If the general starts communicating directly with the civilian Captains again, all the rumors should dry up."

"Or get even worse," Garibaldi responded. "I don't know how much experience you have with AIs, Commander. They can pass a Turing test pretty consistently. Actually mimicking a specific person is another matter altogether. I've heard rumors that Earthforce Special Intelligence was working on high level AIs that could do just that, but there is no way the hardware we have on hand could pull it off. It wouldn't take long for people to get suspicious. And those things can get pretty squirrelly to. What would we do if it started publicly broadcasting orders and policy changes? Follow them? I think it would be a mistake."

"I could meet with a few of the civilian Captains," Bester offered. "Plant the memory that the General was with me during the conversation. The man's not missing if a number of prominent civilians can attest to just having had lunch with him."

"Great. So now we're back to fragging with minds," Garibaldi snapped. Bester ignored him.

"That's seems like it could blow up in our faces, Commander," Lochley said cautiously. "There are a lot of telepaths in this fleet. Someone might notice something." Bester pursed his lips, then gave a single sharp nod. "I think Garibaldi may be correct," she continued. "Best to rip the bandage off quickly. We should tell the fleet. We should take a few days first, though. Make preparations for any chaos the announcement might cause."

"And what do we tell the civilians about who's running the fleet?" Sheridan asked dryly. "Do you want to make this Council public as well?"

"I'm not that crazy," she responded. "This is one time where honesty is not the best policy. If we made the Council public, every single civilian captain would demand the right to participate. No, I think we just say that you carry the highest rank, and let them assume it means you are in charge."

"Which is exactly what it _should_ mean," Sheridan said testily. "Fine. I agree. Call the vote." Sinclair asked if there was any further discussion, and when none arose, called the vote. It was unanimous in favor of disclosure in three days time.

As they all made preparations to leave, Garibaldi said, "I'd just like to remind everyone that the vote to have fleet personnel visit the civilian ships more and see mental health care professionals applies to everyone in this room as well. The vote made no exceptions for flag officers. I expect to see you all under spin soon."

"Apparently you'll see me on the Olympic," Gideon said tiredly, glancing at Lochley in irritation. "I need to make arrangements for a new meeting location. I'll head over tomorrow."  
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" _Twenty-six_ ," Gideon grunted through the pushup. " _Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty_ …" His arms locked half way through the next upward stroke, refusing to move a single inch farther. His arms, his whole body trembled, sweat dripping off of his bare chest and onto the carpeted floor of the room he had requisitioned aboard the Olympic.

As he held the position, struggling to complete just one more pushup, the door suddenly burst open. Commander Lochley walked through, then seemed to notice him down on the floor, and glared at him with displeasure. "Lieutenant Commander," she asked in exasperation, "exactly what are you doing in my room?"

Gideon gaped at her in astonishment, the dropped his head back into the proper position, and somehow ripped out three more pushups. " _Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred._ " He grunted and collapsed to the floor. He breathed deeply for a few seconds, not certain his arms would continue to function, then scrambled to his feet and gave Lochley his best smile. "I think you're mistaken, Commander. I reserved this room. You asked me to set up a new meeting location, remember? And why are you here, anyway?" he asked suspiciously.

"Did you forget that we all have a new requirement to spend more time out amongst the civilians? I wanted to get mine out of the way before the announcement about Lefcourt causes all kinds of chaos. Besides, I haven't been under spin for a while, and was looking forward to the exercise. As to why this ship in particular, the serial killer started on this ship. I thought I would take a look around myself, on the off-chance I might notice anything. And no," she said testily, "I am not mistaken. This is _my_ room. Captain Stevens gave me this key himself."

Gideon could only shrug. "Sorry, Commander. He gave me mine as well. Do you want me to comm him? I could try to straighten this mess out."

"No," she said decisively. "He's clearly playing politics with us. Wants to show that he has neither the resources, the time, nor the inclination to jump just because a couple of Fleet Captains show up on his doorstep." She sighed. "I was looking forward to a couple of days under spin. Well, maybe after he's had his fun for a few hours he'll be more amenable. I'll contact him then." She noticed something on his bed. "Wait, are those _textbooks_?" she asked with a laugh.

"Despite being a serving Line Officer, I'm still technically a cadet, remember? It's expected that I keep up with my final year of classes. I thought I'd take a little time while I'm here to catch up." He was sounding more than a little defensive.

"Well, maybe later I'll tutor you," she said with a smirk. "In the meantime," she continued, gripping her bag and heading for the back of the room, "I'm sure you won't mind if I use our head to change into my PT gear? I want to at least get a run in. If you're lucky I'll let you join me."

"Uhh...I just finished my workout…"

"What, can't keep up?" she asked, turning and flashing him a smile before closing the door.

 _Now that sounds like a challenge_ , he thought, fishing around in his gear for a clean exercise shirt. Finding one, he quickly pulled it over his head, then grabbed a water bulb and quickly drained it, attempting to slow his breathing.

He heard the door open behind him, and turned. He was very proud of his poker face in that moment, reasonably certain that neither his tongue nor any drool was hanging out of his mouth. It wasn't that Lochley was wearing anything inappropriate. They were just standard issue PT sweats, after all. It's just that they happened to be, well, _at least_ three or four sizes too small for the woman wearing them. He had thought she was gorgeous in dress uniform. She could have been a vid-star in those sweats. A most impressive bust drew up the bottom of the shirt, just revealing a set of marvelously tight abs.

"You ready for this?" she asked with another smirk.

He stammered, shocked. "Ahh...um... _what_?"

"Are you ready for the run?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh...no, not at all. Let's go." He held the door open for her, pretending to be gentlemanly. Checking out a seriously fine rear end was closer to the truth. She lead him out the door, and they began to run.

Ninety minutes later, after having chased Lochley around and around the central atrium, up and down hallways and service corridors, and through numerous sections of the ship, Gideon had come to just two conclusions. Lochley was in really great shape, and Lochley had a really great shape. He supposed those two things went together. "Where are we?" he asked, trying to catch his breath. He was gratified to see that she was short winded as well.

"All that time in zero-G really did a number on me," she said. "I'm in _horrible_ shape."

"Not from where I'm standing."

She turned and grinned at him, then said, "I figured after pulling a double workout you'd be hungry. I know I'm famished. I'm told this place has the best food on the ship. Oh, unless you have other plans?"

"Well, let's see, uh, Radium's already been discovered, so that's out. I was going to do my laundry, but let's be honest, I never actually do my laundry. I'm expecting that someone will want to pin a medal to my chest any day now, but I'm sure they'll find someone just as deserving. So no, no plans to speak of." They exchanged smiles, and he followed her into the restaurant.

They sat and ordered, spin allowing for real cooked food, not paste or dehydrated squares out of vacuum sealed bags. Most of the time in zero-G you didn't know what you were eating unless you bothered to read the label. Of course they were in for a long flight and had a lot of mouths to feed, so there was no room for extravagant foodstuffs to be packed along. The meal was simple, but well prepared and delicious. Gideon had ordered a hearty stew, while Lochley had a light pasta. After dinner the conversation turned to their jobs and the challenges that came with them.

"Nobody considers me a "real" Captain," he confided. "My crew trusts me, I have their complete confidence, but they're all cadets like me. I've got Sinclair and Garibaldi constantly looking over my shoulder, and none of the "real" fleet officers trusting my decisions. Well, you know what I mean. I've seen that same look in your eyes. That, 'here goes Captain Cadet again' look."

Lochley grimaced slightly. "Sorry about that."

"Some days it's like trying to nail smoke to the wall. The job is hard enough. Why does everyone keep trying to make it harder than it has to be?"

"The bigger the job, the more of a target you become. Running the flagship of the fleet trying to save the human race, is a pretty big job. How you handling it?"

"Better, thanks to seeing you." She actually blushed a little, and he smiled. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I'd like to go wash up."  
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Lochley sat at the table waiting for Gideon to return. Damn it, she thought, _he shouldn't be that charming._ Unexpectedly, there was someone looming over the table. She looked up to see Captain Stevens, commander of the Olympic.

He smiled down at her kindly. "Commander Lochley, I thought I recognized you. You've been on board for several hours now. Were you planning on staying the night? Would you like me to arrange quarters for you?"

"No, that's quite alright, Captain. I've already made other arrangements. I'm sorry, but if you don't mind, I'm meeting with Lieutenant Commander Gideon regarding sensitive military matters."

"Of course. And here he comes now. I'll just leave you to it. But don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Captain."  
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Gideon returned to his seat. "Was that Captain Stevens? What did he have to say?"

Lochley frowned, standing up to leave. "I had called him about the room mix up. He apologized, but reiterated that they don't have any room to spare. It's the influx of Fleet crew on leave. So it was just simple overcrowding, not politics."

"Well, that's too bad. You know what? Why don't you take the room?"

"Absolutely not. No, you've actually got a job to do here. I just wanted to get some leave time out of the way. No, I'll head back to my ship, and you keep the room. But, if you don't mind, I'd love a quick shower before I leave. Vibing is just _not_ the same."

"Of course." They walked out of the restaurant, and began a leisurely stroll towards the room. The whole ship had gone into a night time cycle, with the lights lowered. They were walking through the atrium with only small pathway lights to guide their way. As the floor of the massive cylinder curved into the walls and finally the ceiling, the pathway lights opposite them took on the aspect of stars in the sky.

They had only gotten about halfway back, when a quartet of civilian men stepped into the path in front of them. "What have we here?" One of them asked. "A pair of fleet Captains all alone. It's not wise to be out by yourselves officers. Very unsafe. The Marsies aren't very fond of you."

"Thanks for the advice," Lochley said, stepping forward. "And you are?"

"We're the Marsies," another of the men stated.

Gideon stepped up next to Lochley. "Don't do anything stupid. You'll get into a lot of trouble, interfering with Fleet officers. It's not like we won't recognize you later."

"Then I guess, instead of leaving you bruised, we'll have to leave you corpses," a third man said, and then lunged forward, swinging at Gideon. The lunge wasn't terribly graceful. A simple shift to the side by Gideon caused him to miss entirely, but left him off balance. Gideon seized a handful of his hair, and used the leverage to shove the man's face downwards, right into Gideon's swiftly rising knee. Blood blossomed as the man's nose was crushed. He screamed, but the scream was cut short as Gideon smoothly pivoted around his heel and brought his elbow sharply around and into the base of the assailant's skull. He crumpled bonelessly to the floor. Unfortunately, that move placed Gideon's back to the final member of the quartet, who tackled Gideon, taking him down.

At the same time, the first of the men darted forward, reaching for Lochley. She grabbed his hand in a practiced hold and twisted. The man stumbled as his entire arm rotated, and his direction of travel shifted by ninety degrees. With a kick she swept his legs out from under him, and his face hit the ground with a crunch. The second of the quartet had gotten around behind her, wrapping his arms around her in an attempted hold, while the first man got back to his feet. She relaxed her legs, sagging in his arms, about to slip out of his hold. He jerked up and backwards, levering her upwards in a natural attempt to reassert his grip. This move lent considerable momentum to the upward sweep of her leg, as she brought her foot up into the groin of the first assailant, who had just staggered to his feet. The man huffed, and bent low over his injured groin, falling to one knee. Lochley hurled her torso to the left, once again causing the man holding her to correct, jerking her back to the right. This caused her body to roll perfectly, allowing her to bring up her left knee and then fire out her heel, catching her first attacker right in the temple. His groans cut off sharply, and he toppled over.

Gideon was struggling to regain his feet, while the man above him rained down blows on the back of his head. The tackle had carried them into a flower bed, and Gideon's mouth and nose were clogged with the wet soil. He attempted to scramble away from the falling blows, his hands clawing at the loose soil. His right hand came down on something...a very decorative, yet very real rock. Gripping it tightly, he shoved with his left hand, rolling quickly over his hip and bringing his right hand, as well as the rock, swinging around and into his attacker's forehead. The skin split and a splatter of blood added to the mud already covering Gideon's face. The man stumbled backwards, but there hadn't been much power to the blow. He tried to regain his composure and return to the fight, but those few seconds were all that Gideon needed to leap to his feet and bring the rock around again. This time, the man went down and didn't get up again.

Walking casually up behind the large man holding the flailing Lochley, Gideon brought the rock down almost casually on top of the man's head. He dropped like a...well, like a bag of rocks, releasing Lochley in the process. They both stood, gasping for breath. "You okay?" he asked.  
"Yeah. I think so." She tapped her comms unit. "Commander Lochley to Olympic security…"  
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A couple of hours later, after handing the men over to the local security officers, and then giving their statements, Lochley and Gideon finally made it back to the room.

"I hated that," she said walking into the room. "I've got to take that shower now."

"Me too. Thank God for spin. It would take hours to vibe this stuff off," he said indicating the mud and blood still coating his face, torso, and arms. "An honest to God shower. I can't wait for some real, hot, running water."

"You'll have to wait while it recycles," she said, stripping out of her shoes.

"That's okay," he said. "I can wait. I've got to get my adrenaline down anyway."

"Yeah, me to," she said breathlessly. "I'm still buzzing, from head to toe."

He walked over to her. "Makes you feel alive, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," she said nodding, looking up at him as he loomed over her, her heart doing a strange flop. "It does."

He reached for her, and they found themselves sharing a passionate kiss, gripping each other tightly. When the kiss finally ended he took a couple of deep breaths. "We don't have to wait to recycle the water, we could, uh, we could share..."

"Environmentally safe," she responded.

"Waste not, want not."

They rushed into the shower and began shedding their clothes, interspersing said activity with more passionate kissing.

 _Well_ , Lochley thought, _it's not exactly how I planned it, but mission accomplished._  
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Ivanova watched in awe as more of the fleet disappeared through the swirling hyperspace vortex, leaving Quadrant 14 behind. The civilians, after weeks of fearing the Minbari would show up at any moment and kill them all, seemed to feel that Narn space was perfectly safe. Keeping them moving in a consistent and orderly fashion was proving difficult. _It's like herding cats_ , she thought. While they had been pulling maintenance and refit in the system, the fleet had gotten spread out all over the place, at least on the edges of the system. The Narn, once the agreement had been struck, had returned to the inner system, leaving only a single frigate to keep an eye on them. When the fleet had gotten moving again, it became apparent that the brass hadn't realized exactly how dispersed the civies had become.

To resolve that problem, they'd broken the CAP up into pairs of Starfuries, flying hither and yon, making sure that all the dispersed civies were aware that it was time for all humans to leave.

"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" came Ironhearts voice? She was flying as his wingman on today's mission. She was his wingman most of the time, when she wasn't flying as part of Sinclair's class. The class was only about half completed, but they were all far enough along now that full class training sessions were becoming less common. Instead, the class had been broken up and spread out across the squadrons of the fleet, each rookie assigned a veteran partner to help continue their development. For some reason no one had yet explained, Black Omega squadron had been broken up and dispersed as well, fully half the squadron sent to other ships and wings in the fleet. Lyta claimed it showed that the Brass still didn't trust telepaths, and was still actively trying to remove any power they might have. Susan didn't think that meshed with the fact that Bester was still clearly one of the ranking members of said Brass.

Black Omega, in accordance with donating so many pilots to the rest of the fleet, had also received the most trainee pilots, so Susan was no longer the only rookie on the Mother. She was still the only one who was a telepath, though. The other trainees seemed to be having a tough time coping with being on a vessel populated almost entirely by telepaths. She had tried to ease their concerns, but they seemed to view her with nearly as much trepidation as they did everyone else aboard the Mother. _Well_ , she thought, _they'll either get over it, or they won't. It's up to them_. Responding to Ironheart, she said, "Absolutely. But my butt is getting tired, and the fleet is almost entirely gone. Are we done yet?"

In response he radioed the Nova, the last warship still in the system. "Black Omega...11 to Nova, we're getting antsy up here. How many more civies do we need to round up?" Susan almost laughed at the slight hesitation when he gave his slot designation. He had recently been Black Omega 6, the junior partner in a wingmen duo. But the major realignment of the squadron had made him the most junior pair leader, changing his slot position, with Susan his junior partner in Black Omega 12.

The response was delayed in coming, but was reasonably welcome news, "Just one more vessel to round up, Black Omega 11. The El Dorado. It's an ore hauler with over a hundred folks crammed on board, as well as a good bit of cargo. The manifest says it's rigged for asteroid ore extraction. Maybe they got greedy, because they've wandered way over by that cluster of asteroids at bearing 136 by 57. We're shunting you their transponder codes. Not sure if it's technical problems, or the asteroids, or just the distance, but we can't get a clear comm channel through to them, so they might not know the wagon train is moving out. It'd take you over an hour to get their at normal cruise, so you are authorized to go to full military thrust. Captain Sheridan says we've overstayed our welcome. Round 'em up and move 'em out Black Omega."

"Roger." He switched back to the squadron channel. "You got all that, kiddo?"

"Yes," she groaned. "Even at full military thrust it will take us nearly half an hour to get there, and there's no way they can match that kind of acceleration on the way back."

"That's the job, hotshot. Follow my lead. Full military thrust in three...two...one...go."

Almost a half hour later, they were decelerating for a close rendezvous with the civie vessel, when the interference suddenly cleared up. Almost instantly a clear voice over the civilian comm channel shouted, "Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Captain Tuttle of the El Dorado. We're cut off and being surrounded by raiders. Requesting immediate military assistance! They aren't responding to hails! Help!"

Susan was about to key a response, when the transmission squelched and then began again, clearly on a loop. "Do not respond," Ironheart ordered. "Cease deceleration on my mark...Mark! If the raiders are still there, I want to do a fast flyby. Weapons hot." Susan complied, her heart rate ratcheting up several notches, and sweat breaking out on her brow. Without the deceleration, it would only take a little over two minutes for them to enter the group of asteroids and get a visual on the El Dorado. Susan breathed deeply and tried to prepare herself.

"Frag!" she heard Ironheart hiss as it finally came into view. The El Dorado was in a slow tumble, but it was clearly dead. There were holes from weapons fire all over the hull, and both the reactor and the cargo hold had been torn open. The cargo had clearly been taken, and the reactor was spewing intense radiation all over the area. Apparently most of the passengers had been in the cargo hold, because dozens of bodies floated silently, frozen in the void.

"Should we get closer?" she asked. "Look for survivors?"

"Don't bother," he answered. "This model only carries one escape pod, and it's still there, with a hole blown in it. Sensors indicate the entire vessel is seriously radioactive. There's no one alive down there."

"Minbari?" she asked. "Narn?"

"I don't think it was either," he responded. "At least not their militaries. There's a lot of evidence of weapons fire, but it's all pretty weak stuff, not even close to what a Starfury can do. Probably civilian vessels with weaponry strapped on. This appears to be old fashioned piracy."

"Piracy? In a Narn military system? Good grief, there's a fleet base down there!"

"This kind of thing happens, even in heavily patrolled space. They shouldn't have wandered so far from the fleet. We probably just missed the raiders. They must have jammers, which is why the transmission cleared up so suddenly. They shut if off when they left. Come on. We've got to get back and report this."

Susan took one last look at the gruesome sight, and noticed some of the bodies floating in the void were quite small. Children? She averted her eyes, feeling numb, and quickly spun her Starfury about. Without another word, they cut in maximum thrust and headed back to the fleet.


	8. Chapter 7 - Raiders and Roadblocks

Chapter 7 - Raiders and Roadblocks  
 **  
Quadrant 37, Narn Space - Exodus Fleet - November, 2248**

Catherine Sakai busily ran through all of the subsidiary sensor sweeps, trying to stay awake. The fleet was spilling into the space around them, once again taking up residence in the outskirts of the system, trying to avoid detection. Trying equally to avoid annoying the Narn. This time, they were way out at the far edges of the local Kuiper Belt.

The Eratosthenes had been in system for over fifteen hours, running scan after scan, and coordinating the Starfury sweeps, all to ensure that no one waited in ambush. There had been signs of neither Minbari nor Narn, nor even civilian traffic. She had been issued a new twist on her previous orders; she now had to try to watch for raiders and pirates flying civilian or antiquated military craft. That made an already difficult job even more complicated. Most of the sensor returns from the Starfuries and the Eratosthenes's own sensor suites fed back to her systems. She was in charge of directing, organizing, and interpreting it all.

At least, that was her job today. Given the long range nature of an Explorer class vessel, most of the crew had cross trained for several positions. It helped to keep the level of tedium down. Of course, that wasn't the case for the batch of cadets they had received to help "relieve" them. Those cadets weren't really trained for _any_ position, and now she had to spend time training rookies, in addition to all her other duties. A back handed favor, to be sure.

Still, it meant that she might _actually_ get some leave in the foreseeable future. It would be a real challenge to try to coordinate her leave with Jeffrey's, so that they could spend some actual time together, rather than just a stolen minute or two on comms, every other day or so. That was the kind of challenge worth taking, though.

Exhausted, she realized the sensor checks she was running weren't particularly important. They were the kinds of sweeps they ran during peacetime, when every priority wasn't being given over to avoiding detection and annihilation. She thought about running the primary scans again, but she was frankly tired of staring at those numbers again and again. Besides, the book said that after the main scans were completed, you ran the subsidiaries. Not to mention the fact that it would give her something novel to do, to help her stay awake.

Only able to keep half her mind on the sensors, it took her a moment to notice the flashing light, indicating the sensors had gotten a hit. She jumped in her seat, reaching to hit the alarm. _Wait_ , she thought, _that's not a ship they're detecting_. It was the subsidiary sensors. And they were registering a hit. A _big_ hit. She didn't recognize the code, and had to look it up in the ship's computers. _Holy frag!_

"Captain?" she called, looking to Levitt. "You're going to want to see this.  
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Sheridan walked into the conference room aboard the Olympic. Seeing as he was the first to arrive, he began a series of stretches, enjoying the feel of spin replicated gravity pulling against his muscles. There were more twinges there than there should have been. He needed to set aside more time to spend under spin. Well, that was a requirement now, so what he really needed to do was stop avoiding it.

Levitt walked in. John noticed that she seemed completely oblivious to the spin. Well, that made sense. She had it every day. _Must be nice_. If the Captains had been more experienced, he might have suggested that they rotate ships, so that each of them could be under spin part of the time, and so that each of them served a term commanding the Nova and the Eratosthenes, the two most dangerous slots in the fleet. The Eratosthenes was always the first ship into a new system. The Nova was always the last ship out. "What's the emergency?" he asked. "What's so important that the council needed to meet again so soon, even before we make the announcement about Lefcourt?"

She smiled back. "It's not an emergency. It's an opportunity. But let's wait until the others arrive."

Over the next few minutes they did so, several of them showing a bit of strain, and no small amount of pleasure, under the effects of spin. Finally, Sinclair called the meeting to order.

"Let me start by noting that the announcement of Lefcourt's death will be made approximately thirty-six hours from this time. The plan is to be nonspecific as to both the cause of death and the timing. A funeral will be held three days after that, with a closed casket. If anyone inquires into either the cause of death or the timing, we will note that the information is currently restricted, citing martial law. We can make the facts public once we've finished our journey. Does anyone have any concerns?"

When none were forthcoming, he turned to Levitt. "Well then, this is your show Commander. You have the floor."

Levitt arose and walked to the podium. The activated the display panel on the wall behind her. It displayed what appeared to be a large, lumpy asteroid. It looked a lot like a potato. "This planetesimal is one of the nearby KBOs. It's a little less than two AU from our current position. As of right now, it is the single largest source of Quantium 40 humanity has on record." That note caused some surprised murmurs in the room, but Levitt continued, "detailed scans have noted several massive veins, some running along the surface. With minimal effort, we could scoop up sufficient Q40 from the surface to replenish nearly 10% of the stocks we gave to the Narn. There are a half dozen other KBOs nearby that have similar, if substantially smaller, deposits."

"Define minimal effort," Sheridan said.

"I mean we wouldn't have to break out any of the heavy mining equipment we have with. Many of the civilian ships are setup for collecting minerals from asteroids, or even asteroid mining. We could put them to use during the two or three days we were planning on doing standard maintenance inspections, making sure that all of the ships are prepared for the next leg of hyperspace. We'd lose a day at most, and in the end we could recoup fifteen to twenty percent of our Q40 stocks."

"Holy hell," Garibaldi breathed. "How did the Narn possibly miss something like this?"

"We're way out in the Kuiper Belt, remember?" Levitt answered. "It takes a lot of effort to survey out this far, generally for not a lot of reward. And the Narn really just got here. It looks like they started setting up this base when Earth fell. Before that it was kind of in a no man's land between the Narn and Centauri. I suppose the Centauri could have found it when they had solid control of the system, but that was back during their expansionistic phase, when they were more interested in conquering new worlds and new species for resources, rather than doing the hard work of exploring the bleeding outskirts of their own systems. There's a hell of a lot of open space out here. For that matter, it's practically blind luck that we stumbled across this ourselves."

"What about the Narn?" Lochley asked.

"What about them?" Sheridan returned.

"This is their system. Aren't these technically their Quantium 40 deposits? They might have a problem with us helping ourselves to their Q40."

"They had no problem helping themselves to ours," Garibaldi said in some amusement. "And they have no idea this is here. They're doing their best to ignore us, to give themselves plausible deniability if the Minbari come calling. They probably won't even notice what we're doing. But if they do happen to show up, what have we done, other than to significantly increase their Q40 reserves? We'll just say 'you're welcome' and move along."

"I like it," Sinclair said. "Any objections?" As there were none, he didn't bother calling the vote, simply saying, "Then let's get started."

They began to shuffle out. As they did, Lochley called out, "Lieutenant Commander Gideon, could I ask a favor of you?"

"Certainly," he said, turning back to face her. Garibaldi and Sinclair, stepped around him, still heading for the door.

"I'm thinking about taking some of my leave here on the Olympic. I've never been aboard before, and since you were here arranging for this conference room, I thought maybe you could give me a quick tour, show me some of the ins and outs."

"The ins and outs, huh?" he asked, doing his best to hide a grin as Levitt also stepped around him. "Certainly. Happy to be of service."  
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Ensign Susan Ivanova awoke, disoriented, in her ready room aboard the Mother, disheveled in her flight suit. _Damnit, did I fall asleep again?_ It was the third time she had awoken with no clear memory of falling asleep, or even how she got there. Was she sleepwalking? Was that even _possible_ in zero G? _Maybe I should see the doctor._

That wouldn't really help, though, because she knew exactly what any good doctor would say. More sleep. Less stress. They might even prescribe some sleep aids. Unfortunately, she was too damned _busy_ to get any more sleep. Her stress wasn't going to drop anytime soon, and sleep aids might dull her effectiveness. She certainly wasn't going to allow any doctor to put her flight status in jeopardy or, God forbid, actually ground her.

When was she supposed to find time to sleep? She was an active pilot now, and the flight rotation was punishing, requiring long hours on patrol, trying to keep the fleet safe. But Sinclair hadn't graduated her class yet, and she still had to spend a good deal more time in the cockpit and in simulators, going through his training sessions. At least _that_ should be over in a week or two, which should provide _some_ relief for both her fellow classmates and her. No relief for Commander Sinclair, though. He would go right into training another batch of pilots.

On top of her pilot duties, she was still a cadet. It was completely ridiculous, but the few professors remaining expected her to keep up with her class studies. She had to read _text books_ for crying out loud. She was positive Lieutenant Commander Gideon wouldn't have to read text books. It was completely unfair.

And beyond even that, she still had to train as a telepath. And her trainers were a pair of tittering...well, no, they weren't airheads. They were very diligent, supportive, and understanding in her training. What's more, they were quickly becoming very good friends. But they _insisted_ she spend any available time she had honing her extremely limited telepathic abilities. And then, as well meaning friends, they demanded she carve out yet _more_ time while they took her out to "relax," and tried to hook her up with cute telepaths. Talia was the worst. Just because she was in a relationship, she wanted all of her friends to be in one as well. Even Lyta was starting to get annoyed by it.

As for stress, it wasn't like she didn't have plenty to stress her, even aside from the punishing workload. She had lost her brother, her parents, and everyone else she loved back on Earth. She was now partially responsible for the survival of the whole human race. She had been outed as a telepath, and her entire life had been upended yet again. She no longer fit amongst the normal humans, and she was too new and weak to fit amongst the telepaths. And then there was the fact that she had recently witnessed the aftermath of a raider attack on a civilian vessel. What little sleep she did get was often filled with visions of frozen little bodies, floating in the void. _Yeah, nothing to stress about there._

And on top of all that, now there was the news about General Lefcourt's death. The details were sparse, but the rumor mill said it had been a stroke...due to stress. The entire fleet was in chaos over that. It left Captain Sheridan in command, so at least that was something. If anyone could get them away from the Minbari, it would be him. The only human to receive a moniker from the Minbari... _Starkiller_. She thought he should embrace it, rather than trying to suppress its usage. No, Sheridan was the best choice, other than Lefcourt himself. But he was just so _young_ for such a role.

Her musings were interrupted as Ironheart bolted into to room. "There you are! What are doing? We've got to get strapped in, there's been another raider attack!" Rather than responding, Susan rose and darted for her Starfury at top speed. Ironheart continued to fill her in along the way. "They hit two of the ships doing the Q40 mining. One went up like a roman candle. We think it did significant damage to the raiders attacking it, given some of the debris found. The other one was torn open, just like the last time, and the ore they had collected stolen. They reached the hangar bay, and both rapidly went through preflight checks. They were the last members of the squadron to depart. _How long was I out? You'd think I'd at least feel less tired._ They launched and went to full burn to catch up with the squadron.

"Nice of you two to join us." Black Omega Leader commed, unflappable as always. "I do hope we're not interrupting your busy social calendars."

Susan opened her comm. "No, sir. Sorry, sir. My fault. No excuse." Best she take responsibility. It certainly wasn't Ironheart's fault.  
Bester didn't read her the riot act, simply saying, "Fall into position. We've got work to do."

Over twelve hours and a very frustrating search later, the hunt was finally called off. There had been no sign of the raiders, save the destroyed vessels and more spaced bodies, but while they had been searching, another civilian transport, on the opposite end of the fleet, had been hit. Gold Alpha squadron had responded to that one. Most of those raiders had gotten away clean as well, but one had tarried too long, trying to collect just a little more loot, and had been caught by an edge of range missile shot from Gold Alpha Leader.

Sheridan had ordered the warships to split up and move in close to directly cover each of the mining sites. Their big guns would ensure no more raider attacks on the mining vessels. The rest of the fleet was to stay packed together, close to the warships, while the Starfury squadrons maintained the perimeter. But that would be someone else's job. At least now the civilians should be safe.

"Back to the barn," Bester ordered. "Get a meal and some sleep. And for God's sake Ironheart, clean up. When's the last time you vibed? I can smell you across the _vacuum_."

"Eau de Ironheart, sir. A well cultivated musk. Drives the ladies wild."

This comment was met with a series of groans across the squadron net, but Bester responded, "I have no doubt. I see them jumping out the airlocks."

Even Susan found herself chuckling, but the mirth quickly faded and the exhaustion set in. All she would take away from this mission was more lost sleep, and another set of images to haunt her dreams.  
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 **Jux Prime, Centauri Space - Exodus Fleet - November, 2248  
**  
Five hyperspace vortices blossomed into the void, and a fleet began spilling out. At the head of that fleet, all five Earth Force warships, all that remained of a once mighty navy, sprinted out, forming a perimeter to guard the following civilians. A horde of Starfuries dropped off their racks, flinging themselves into space to ensure nothing could slip through that perimeter.

Sheridan watched the deployment from the Nova's bridge. It had been decided to change the way they did system entries, at least in this instance. They had been lucky, detecting the hyperspace gravity shadow of a gas giant in the system. They'd jumped directly into the real shadow of the planet, using its bulk to shield them from prying eyes deeper into the system. Jux Prime was known to be only lightly patrolled by the Centauri. Their hope was to get in, quickly do any maintenance or repairs any of the civilian vessels required, make sure no one was around, then make a dash to the nearby jump gate and get out. They'd be onto the next leg of the journey, with hopefully no Centauri the wiser.

He smiled, as everything seemed to be going like clockwork. The jump windows had closed, and repairs were well under way. Stealthed sensors detected no sign of the Centauri, or anyone else. It was a little risky to rush this way, but if they could keep up the pace they could get the fleet moving in less than another hour. That speed would pay safety dividends of its own. _Thank goodness_ , he thought. _The last thing we need is a repeat of Quadrant 24 and that damned Ambassador..._

"Jump points forming!" Takashima called, interrupting his thoughts. "Ships emerging….we have three Centauri Battlecruisers...Primus class."

 _Well, so much for that hope. The best laid plans…_

"They're signaling the fleet."

"Open a channel. Punch it through to the main display." He waited for a moment while the officer at comms complied, and then blinked in surprise as he recognized the man looking back at him from the vid screen. "Ambassador Mollari? Ahh...it's an honor to see you again, sir."

"Have we met? Ahh, yes. Forgive me Commander Shepard. It is indeed a pleasure to meet the Hero of Earth again. I'm quite surprised you're not dead. You seemed like the type to go out in a glorious last stand, yes?"

"It's Captain now, sir. Captain Sheridan."

"Yes, I remember now. Don Sheridan, my apologies. Perhaps you should just stick with Starkiller, and make it easier on all of us."

Sheridan held back a sigh and chose not to correct the Ambassador again, instead plastering a smile on his face. "Just Captain will be fine, sir. What can I help you with, Ambassador?"

"This is clearly the wrong question, Captain. You should instead be asking how _I_ can help _you_ , impolite as that would be. And the answer, Captain, is that I can and will happily provide you with directions, as you are clearly lost. It seems you have wandered into Centauri territory by mistake. Oh," he added, now showing a bit of irritation, "perhaps I can also provide you with a _watch_ , Captain. You are terribly late. Do you have any idea how _tiresome_ it has been, sitting here waiting for you?"

"You were expecting us, Ambassador?" John asked in confusion.

"Let us just say that the Centauri generally keep a rather _close_ watch on Narn space. For their own good of course. Those poor Narn are positively hopeless at keeping an eye on things."

The conversation trailed off for a moment while John searched for something to say. "Of course sir. But you see, it was no mistake that lead us here, Ambassador. We are not seeking asylum from the Centauri, have no fears in that regards. We merely wish to officially request the right of passage through your territory, to your opposite border."

"No."

The response was so immediate that it took John a moment to process it. "Ambassador Mollari, Centauri space has always been open to travel and trade. Humanity in particular has enjoyed a mutually beneficial relationship with the Centauri in this regard."

"And will you now claim to be a convoy of merchants, Captain?"

"There are certainly a large number of merchants with us. I have no doubt that if you scan our registries, you will find many vessels which have traded profitably with the Centauri in the past."

"Yes, very clever Captain," Mollari responded. "But that is not _all_ you are, is it?"

John ground his teeth for a moment, then forced himself to say affably, "No, certainly not Ambassador. We are, in fact, a refugee fleet, fleeing from the destruction of our nation, our homeworld, and our species. But that's not all it has to be. The relationship between our two peoples has been beneficial to both. It still can be. All we ask is the right of passage."

"No. I am sorry, Captain. You will need to turn back. The Centauri Republic will not allow your refugees in."

"But we're not looking for refuge, Ambassador. _We're not looking for charity. We won't ask a thing of you, save the right to pass in peace. A right your government has afforded to humanity by long tradition._ "

"No." Mollari made the world very clear and distinct, though he said it without rancor.

"Ambassador," John said, almost desperately, "do you understand what we are leaving behind? What we may be facing if we turn back?"

"Yes," Mollari said softly, almost regretfully, drawing the word out. "I understand very well. What I understand most of all," he said, finally showing some emotion, "is what you are bringing with you; what, in fact, you are likely dragging along behind you. I will not allow you to give the Minbari cause to view the Centauri with hostility or suspicion. I will not allow you to drag my people into your foolish war. I _will not_ allow you to use my people, my Republic, as a shield against the monster you created! I warned your people, Captain. I did my best to stop that foolhardy mission. What happens now is on your own heads."

John sighed, "What do you want, Ambassador?" They had only recouped a bit of their Quantium 40 supplies, but they had plenty of other valuable trade stuffs, enough to ransom a kingdom. It might very well beggar them, but he would spend it gladly.

"What do I want?" the Ambassador barked. " _What do I want?_ I can't believe I am _still_ surprised by the sheer _mass_ of human arrogance. It's astonishing your egos don't all collapse into individual singularities. I assure you, Captain, you have _nothing_ that would ever convince me to put my people at risk in this way."

" _Please_ , Ambassador," John begged, his voice tense with emotion.

"Captain," he said softly, "I am sorry." He paused for a moment, and then said in a louder voice, "You have twelve hours to exit Centauri space. After that point, any ship remaining will be destroyed."

"You _wouldn't_ ," John hissed. "That's an act of war."

"No. In order for it to be an act of war, you would need to have a nation to go to war against. This would just be...pest removal, yes?"

"We won't go down easily."

"Of course," Mollari said dismissively. "Your mighty dreadnought, and all those fighters you are so proud of. It might actually be concerning, if you weren't facing three Centauri battlecruisers. Your dreadnought might last a minute or so against that level of firepower. Your heavy cruiser will be gone in the first salvo. Meanwhile, I believe you will discover that Centauri strike fighters are more than a match for your Starfuries. However, let me draw your attention to the twelve Vorchan warships which are currently surrounding your fleet. The moment hostilities open, Captain, let me assure you, they will eradicate your civilian vessels. Please go, Captain. There is nothing here for you."

"You would do that?" John demanded. "You would wipe us out?"

"I would regret it, Captain. It would haunt me for the rest of my life. But, if given the choice a thousand times, not once would I hesitate. Goodbye, Captain. Your twelve hours begin now." The comm channel was cut from the Centauri end, and the screen reverted to displaying the image of the three battlecruisers.

John stared straight ahead, doing his best to maintain an air of stoicism. He felt sick inside. Silence reigned. Everyone on the bridge bent studiously to their tasks, doing their best to pretend they hadn't noticed a thing. He appreciated that, but the clock was ticking. "Contact the captains of all ships," he ordered. "Make preparations to return to hyperspace. Set course...back to Quadrant 37.  
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 **  
Epsilon Eridani, Former Earth Alliance Space - Minbari Fleet - November, 2248**

The remains of a Sharlin floated silently in the void, only a short distance from the local jumpgate. The floating, spinning detritus slowly dispersed out into the system. Aboard the nearest Sharlin cruiser, the Grey Council silently reviewed the enormous holographic display which encompassed them, showing the wreckage of the once mighty cruiser.

Coplann grimaced at the image. "Another destroyed ship. Another dead crew. Starkiller has much for which to answer."

"Starkiller?" Delenn asked placidly. "How can you be sure it was him?"

"Who else, Delenn? Who else amongst the humans has ever hurt us like this? Who else amongst the humans even has military vessels left? I can tell just from what I see that this was done at close range, from behind. It was almost certainly while our ship was transitioning the jump gate. An ambush."

"Why did they not use their jump engines to enter the system? Would that not have prevented the ambush?"

"Very astute, Delenn," Coplann said in surprise. "Yes, the Alyt in charge clearly made a tactical error. I have no idea why he would have done such a foolish thing, but it cost him everything." He took a breath. "Regardless, it is obvious the human fleet came this way. Which means they have left Earth Alliance territory. This system is on the very edge of their space."

"We have not yet located all of their systems. We know several remain lost in hyperspace, with the humans playing their games with the beacons. Could the humans not have gone to one of those."

He grunted, "Unlikely. As far as we can tell, those systems are all on the opposite side of the Earth Alliance. Starkiller would have had to double back and pass through our forces to get to them, all without our noticing. And if he was going there, Delenn, then why would he come here first? No, this is his escape route. He knows that we will find all of those remaining systems eventually. No, the only hope for his people is escape."

"If this is the edge of their territory, then it is over. They have escaped."

"No, Delenn. There can be only two possible outcomes when the Minbari go to war. Victory or defeat. There is no 'they got away.' The answer is simple. We chase them down. They do not have control of the beacons in the areas through which they now pass. We can overtake them quickly. We will search out the humans and eradicate Starkiller and his fleet."

"These are sovereign alien nations," Delenn protested. "We are not at war with them. We have no right to pass through their territory!"

"If they allowed the humans to pass, Delenn, then they have given us the same right."

"And if they refuse us passage? If they stand in our way?"

"Then we move past them...or go through them."

"We have just finished one war, Coplann. I will not allow you to start another."

"The last war is _not_ over, Delenn. Not while Starkiller and his fleet are still out there. Not while Earth Alliance systems are still untouched. And if these aliens move to protect the humans, then it will not be a new war. It will be the _same_ war."

Delenn drew herself up. "I cannot allow…"

"We are here because of _you_ Delenn!" Coplann raised his voice in irritation. "Twice it was you who made the decision to eradicate the humans. You have asked for much from our people, particularly the warriors. This council has honored even your bizarre requests regarding the prosecution of the war. If you wish us to continue to do so, then you _will not_ stand in our way here." He stepped closer to her, gestured to the image of the destroyed Sharlin, and said softly, "Look at that ship, Delenn. That was done by warriors. That was done by Starkiller. By your own prescription for how this war is to be fought, they must be destroyed. Do not further divide this Council by trying to invalidate this duty."

Delenn looked around the Council, and knew she did not have the votes to prevent this. It would not even be close. Returning her eyes to Coplann, Delenn said, "Agreed. Send your warriors forward. But ensure that they make every effort to be respectful of the people through whose territory they pass. Make sure they do not start another war."

Coplann bowed to her. "Of course, Delenn."  
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 **Quadrant 37, Narn Space - Exodus Fleet - November, 2248**

The fleet which returned to Quadrant 37 was not the same one which had left it. This fleet was disheartened, and discordant. The military minders weren't doing a good job shepherding their flock. The civilian Captains weren't in much of a mindset to be shepherded anyway.

Commander Sinclair stood on the bridge of the Midway, flanking Gideon sitting in the Captain's chair. Garibaldi stood on his other side. They watched as two full squadrons of Starfuries launched from the Midway. Sinclair wanted more than to just ensure the security of the fleet. Those Starfuries would be a visible reminder to the civilians that the fleet still had order. Had purpose. Had hope.

"Captain Gideon, Mr. Garibaldi, might I have a word in private?" They gave him curious looks, but silently followed him off the bridge and to the nearby meeting room reserved for the Captain. Sinclair floated over to the table and took a seat in front of one of the stations set up for vid conferencing.

Garibaldi closed the door, then both he and Gideon sat. Sinclair gestured for them to be patient for a moment, then activated the comm system. While the two other officers looked on, he punched a message through to the Eratosthenes, asking to speak with her Captain. Shortly, Commander Levitt appeared on the screen. "What's up, Commander?"

"Is your end private, Commander?"

She hesitated, searching his expression, then said, "No, but it can be."

"We'll wait."

"We?"

"I've got Gideon and Garibaldi with me," he said, expanding the view so the other officers could be seen.

"Just a moment." Less than a minute later she was back, the wall behind her slightly different. "So, is there a reason the four of us are meeting without the rest of the Captains?"

"Yes. Because we don't have time for a full Captain's Council, and more argument. The fleet needs us to be decisive and confident now. I think we all know what would happen if we called the Council now. Sheridan would want us to go around the Centauri, and head for the space on their far border. Lochley will want to change direction, and head for Dilgar space. We'd take a vote, and almost half of us would be upset. The fleet doesn't need that tension right now."

Levitt nodded in understanding, but Gideon said, "I'm confused. Isn't this something we need to decide?"

Levitt explained for Sinclair, "Yes, it is. But it isn't something we need to decide right now. Both goals are served by charting a course coreward, through Narn space and into Corillani or even Drazi territory."

"Yes," Sinclair added, "and that course also serves the purpose of getting us farther away from the Minbari, which seems like a good idea, all things considered."

Gideon nodded. "Neither Lochley nor Sheridan will argue when we tell them, because each of them will seem to be getting their way. Or at least, not _not_ getting it. And the fleet get's the decisive leadership it needs right now. I like it. I'm in."

"Me to," Levitt agreed.

"Me three," Garibaldi quipped.

Sinclair sighed. "Then it's decided. I'll contact the other Captains to let them know of our decision. We should all prepare to move out. However, we've done two transits now with minimal maintenance. We need to make sure the smaller civilian craft all get a thorough inspection and any needed maintenance. We don't want to lose people in hyperspace due to carelessness."

"The smaller craft weren't designed for this. They're slowing us down," Garibaldi noted grimly.

"Yes, but they substantially increased the fleet's carrying capacity. Our goal is to get everyone out we can. We won't abandon people because their vessels aren't fast enough. I'll fight against anyone making that suggestion," Sinclair said vehemently.

Garibaldi raised his hands, "Easy, Jeff. I wasn't suggesting any such thing. I do have a question though. Why didn't you invite Bester to this little shindig?"

"Because we didn't need his vote to have a majority of the Captains. And because I don't trust him."  
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Susan Ivanova and the five other rookies of her wing spun over hard, decelerating and falling into their assigned slots. Commander Bester had gathered in the squadron for that exact reason. Black Omega had been on station, assisting with fleet security, for several hours. However, the rookie half of the squadron had been in one of Commander Sinclair's training sessions. Probably one of the last ones before they graduated. After Sinclair had dismissed them, they had done a quick refuel and had gone out under full burn to catch up with the rest of the squadron.

"Nice of you to join us for some real work," Bester commented over the squadron net. "Did you kiddies have fun in school?"

"Sure. I got a lollipop for good behavior," Susan commed back, finally starting to feel comfortable with her squad.

"I hope you brought enough for everyone," Ironheart cut in.

"Absolutely. Just pop your seals and walk on over here, and I'll hand you one." That brought a chorus of chuckles over the net. As far as jokes went, Susan knew it was really lousy. But the squadron had been on station for several hours already, and had been pulling similar duty daily for weeks. They were so bored, they'd laugh at anything; a fact Susan appreciated, as she wasn't particularly good at being funny.

"Time to go to work, children," Bester resumed. "Our orders for the next several hours are to perform a long range patrol. Break into pairs and pick a direction. Head out as far as you can until you are Bingo fuel, then return to the barn. Report anything interesting or suspicious." So saying, Bester shot off in a random direction, his wingman dutifully following him.

Susan waited for Ironheart to pick a direction of his own. She noted that he was waiting until everyone else had already picked a heading. _He's still deferential to them_ , she thought to herself. _He still doesn't see himself as equal to the other senior pilots, no matter what attitude he displays on the surface._

Ironheart finally picked a direction, and the two of them shot off. The cruised in silence for about a quarter of an hour, just watching sensors, when Ironheart said, "Susan, I'm going to try to initiate telepathic contact with you. See if you can assist in the process."

She repressed an instinctive shudder. She was a telepath now, and would have to deal with it. Instead, she said, "What, through the bulkhead? I thought that was impossible."

"Pull up next to me, so you can kinda see me out of the corner of your eye. Then just try to be open, maybe 'listen' really hard. I'll be doing most of the work."

"Alright," she said, doing as instructed. "Why?"

"Let's just say it might save our lives some day. Other than that, you'll just have to trust me."

They cruised on, working on the contact. _Well_ , thought Susan, _at least it's a way to practice telepathy and piloting at the same time. Very efficient._

A few hours later, Ironheart hit Bingo fuel. "Time to head back," he advised.

Susan hesitated. "I'm going to keep going. I want to check out that cluster of asteroids up ahead."

"Are you serious? Susan, you can't go off on your own. Wingmen are supposed to stick together."

"Look, between telepath training, cadet training, active flight operations, and covering for you while you spend 'quality time' with Talia, I'm behind on my pilot training. I've managed to get enough simulator time to cover the combat operations requirements, but I need a few flybys in close proximity to a light gravity source. I've still got a mostly full gas tank, and those asteroids are perfect. I _refuse_ to not graduate from fighter school. I am _not_ going to be stuck repeating the course, losing even _more_ sleep."

Ironheart grunted, then said, "I won't order you to turn back, but I'm going on the record as saying this is a terrible idea. If you get yourself killed, Talia will never speak to me again."

"I didn't get the impression you were interested in her for her conversation skills."

"Funny. Be careful." And with that he heeled over and set course for the Mother. Susan increased her thrust by fifty percent, and headed for the asteroids.

The cluster of asteroids was both larger and farther off than expected. It took another hour before she was close. She started performing some basic maneuvers around the asteroids, looping in and out of them, using their minimal gravity to alter her course just slightly. In combat that could mean the difference between a hit or a miss, or so Commander Sinclair had instructed. She practiced several maneuvers, including a few strafing runs, live firing on inoffensive rock spires.

Apparently she got too close to the raider hiding there. It lit off its engines and took off, running for the next asteroid in an attempt to get behind cover. Ivanova locked in a pursuit course, cursing and lighting up her jammers. It seemed to be alone, probably a scout, but if it got out of jamming range it could report the presence of the fleet back to it's companions, and then more civilians would become targets. "Ivanova to Midway." There was no answer. "Ivanova to Mother." She heard only static on the comms. "Ivanova to any Earth Force craft in range...Ironheart, are you listening." _Damn. Maybe it's jamming me as well._ She vacillated, still following the raider. If it got around that asteroid she might lose it, but orders were not to get into combat alone. Her first duty was supposed to be reporting this back to the fleet. But if she did that, it would get away, and civilians would probably die because of it. _To hell with orders, if that ship brings back a dozen raiders civilians will die._ Behind her eyes, the memories rose up of a gutted ship and frozen bodies, some too small to be adults. She kicked her Starfury to maximum acceleration and gave chase.

She slowly closed the distance. "Come on, come on. Come on!" she chanted to herself, her pulse and adrenaline racing. She linked her pulse discharge cannon and fired them simultaneously. A single burst, and the raider in front of her erupted into flame and debris. "Yes!" She tried to regain her composure, taking a deep breath. "Good." She reveled in the feeling of having done something important, of having saved lives. "Good," she said to herself, more softly. Perhaps the world really would turn out alright.

The delta wing shape of another raider appeared on her forward scanner, headed right for her. It was followed by a second, then a third. Then a fourth, fifth, and sixth. In a handful of seconds, her targeting computer had identified fourteen onrushing bogies. Her jaw dropped. "Not good." _I need to run, report the threat_ , she thought, spinning about. Then the images of little bodies, tumbling in the void, reasserted itself. _To hell with it_. She spun her fighter again, and dove to the attack.  
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Ironheart was holding hands with Talia in the hallway outside the pilot's ready room. The scene was too public for them to do much else, but though there was a room handy, they both wanted to be here. They were waiting.

The subject of their wait exited the ready room, nonchalantly putting on her uniform jacket. "There you are," Ironheart said, catching up to her, with Talia in tow. "What happened out there?"

"Nothing," Susan said, looking him in the eye.

"Nothing?" he asked in amusement. "I just got back the repair order on your fighter. It'll be in the shop for a week, _minimum_. And on top of that I hear you broke regs about engaging in combat without backup."

"It was an educated risk," she said with a small smile. "Sometimes it works out."

"Apparently. They also just updated the pilot rankings. How exactly did you make _Triple Ace_ doing practice maneuvers for class?

Her heart sank. "Triple ace? I didn't realize…"

"That they'd analyze your gun camera footage? Yeah, they tend to do that when you return to base with all eight hardpoints empty and _one of your cannon actually missing_. You now have more kills than any pilot in the fleet. And I do mean _any_ pilot, not just your class."

"Oh, hell. I don't want to be at the top of the rankings." The other pilots would make her life miserable. They were a highly competitive bunch, and she was the biggest rookie flying.

"Well, technically you're not. The CAG just announced that, given the massive tech advantages, Minbari kills count for five. A single Nial down makes you an Ace. So Commander Bester, having three Minbari kills and just having picked up a pair of Raiders, has you beat in the standings. But he's the _only_ one. You even have the CAG licked."

"Bozhe moi. I do?" she asked meekly.

"He has two Minbari, one raider, and three kills from actions before the war. As of today's new rankings, he is one point shy of you, which only makes him a Double Ace. Which is still a big deal, of course. Nobody else in the fleet has even made Ace. The two other Nial kills we have were both divided up amongst two and three pilots.

"Ensign Ivanova, Lieutenant Ironheart," Commander Bester called, coming up to them. "A moment of your time, please. If you would excuse up please, Ms. Winters." he said to Talia, who promptly fled. Susan looked at Ironheart and asked ' _Lieutenant_?' telepathically, as they both snapped to attention. She heard _'No idea'_ in her mind, and felt the mystification of the Ensign standing next to her.

"You've had quite the exciting day today," he said looking them up and down. They had both snapped to attention. "I should be quite livid, though I am not. You'll both want to get cleaned up and ready."

"Ready, Sir?" Susan asked.

"We're due on the Olympic in two hours. Most of the pilots will be there. Those not flying CAP anyway. You, Commander Sinclair, and I will all be receiving commendations for our action in combat, as well as medals for our Ace status. Ironheart, you will indeed be promoted to Lieutenant, along with several other pilots from across the fleet. Captain Sheridan himself will be awarding us. It's really meant to be a morale boost for the whole fleet. The lot of us are really just ancillary to the spectacle. We're meant to be seen as heroes. It's theatre for the mundanes."

His words hit a nerve in Susan. "Don't you think the fleet deserves heroes, Commander?"

He gave his trademark smirk. "Do you see yourself as a hero, Ensign?"

"Me? No, Sir. I'm just a rookie pilot who got lucky. But you? You're definitely a hero, Sir. I don't think anyone else could have taken out three Minbari."

Her response seemed to surprise him. "Okay, Ensign. I'll do my best to be a shining example for the...fleet. Now, you should both get ready for tonight's ceremony. And afterwards, you will both report to the Olympic's kitchens."

"Sir?" Ironheart asked.

"You'll both spend the following eight hours peeling potatoes. Not something which can be done in the zero-G conditions on the Mother. Imagine the mess. Besides, all our potatoes are premashed, in spacer bulbs. We wouldn't want to peel those." His face took on a more serious note. "Consider this a warning, rather than an _actual_ punishment. You don't disregard standing orders in _my_ squadron. You don't go into combat without backup," he said, glaring at Ivanova. He switched his glare to Ironheart. "You don't allow your _junior_ wingman to go gallivanting off. If she needs additional training, then you supervise it. Is that quite clear?"

"Sir, yes Sir!" they barked in unison.

"Now go get changed. You've got a long night ahead of you."

Susan groaned silently. So much for getting any sleep.  
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 **  
Quadrant 24, Narn Space - Narn Fleet Base - November, 2248**

"Wake up, G'Kar! You can sleep later. The Minbari are here!"

Ambassador G'Kar bolted upright, banging his head on the low bulkhead. Wincing, he nodded to his uncle, Warleader G'Sten, and began dressing awkwardly but hurriedly in the zero-G environment of the Bin'Tak class dreadnought Chad'rasha Narn. He had moved to the Chad'rasha Narn upon its arrival in the system. This was the moment they had all been worrying over. "Where are the Minbari now?"

"They are advancing slowly into the system along a broad arc. Five of their war cruisers and five of their escort frigates. They are heading generally for the colony and base."

"Mobilize our welcoming force. I don't want them getting too close to the colony. I will join you on the bridge shortly." G'Sten nodded and left, returning to the bridge.

By the time G'Kar got to the bridge, cursing the lack of gravity, the small task force was already well under way. The Chad'rasha Narn was flanked by a pair of G'Quan class heavy cruisers and four Ka'Toc class destroyers. It was a powerful force, but not overtly hostile. Hopefully that was the right mix to get the Minbari to listen, and then to leave.

"We are headed for their central cruiser," G'Sten advised him, waving at the image of the strangely shaped Minbari vessel centered in the view screen. "Their line stretches across ten light minutes, and they are scanning heavily."

"Get as close as you can. Do not halt forward movement until they do. If possible, get within a few kilometers of their vessel. See if they let you."

"Are you planning on ramming them, G'Kar?"

"I'm planning on seeing who blinks first."

"Excuse me?"

"Just a phrase I picked up on Earth. Ignore it."

The two fleets swept closer and closer to each other. G'Kar felt the tension on the bridge around him steadily increase. Soon they were within one hundred thousand kilometers of the central Minbari vessel.

"Status?" G'Sten asked.

A female at an engineering station responded, "Systems are being impacted by massive sensor emissions from the Minbari. Countermeasures are effective. No degradation in system effectiveness."

A male at the sensors station picked up when she left off, "Minbari continue to advance. Now passing sixty thousand kilometers to central vessel."

"Their gunports?" G'Sten asked.

"Unknown. Their stealth systems are active, so we cannot tell."

The Warleader grunted and turned to his nephew. "It would appear they have learned _something_ from their incident with the humans."

"Let's hope they have learned how _not_ to start a war," G'Kar responded.

They closed to ten thousand kilometers, then a thousand. "Reduce speed by fifty percent," G'Sten ordered. "We want to get close, not collide." They passed one hundred kilometers, and G'Sten ordered the rate of closure decreased yet again. It was not until their separation reached twelve kilometers that the Minbari came to a relative stop. G'Sten ordered an immediate halt, but the range had fallen to nine kilometers by the time the two fleets were stationary relative to each other. As the Minbari line was so broadly spread out, this central cruiser was the only Minbari vessel visible to anything but sensors. Despite this fact, all of the Minbari vessels had come to a relative stop in unison.

G'Sten bent and whispered in G'Kar's ear, "We have a partial weapons' lock on the vessel in front of us. The rest might as well be smoke and shadows, for as much as our systems can read them."

"Open communications," G'Kar ordered, not acknowledging his uncle's words. Within seconds the image of a Minbari appeared on his screen. The man wore the dark uniform of one of their warriors. _Better and better_ , he thought dryly. Outwardly he put on his most pleasant smile and offered a small bow. "Greetings my Minbari friend. I am Ambassador G'Kar of the Narn Regime. And you are?"

"I represent the Minbari Federation. We are hunting a fleet of criminals and barbarians...humans. Have you seen any sign of them, Narn?"

G'Kar noted the Minbari's failure to offer either his name or honorific, as well as to utilize G'Kar's own. _Not terribly diplomatic. Is that good or bad_? "I'm afraid we haven't. No humans have been this way, Captain…?"

" _Alyt_. I am the Alyt of this vessel, Narn. It is good to hear that you are not sheltering the humans. No doubt you will not mind if we take a look around, just to ensure they are not hiding from us both? Quite sneaky, these humans."

"We will be happy to keep an eye out for the humans for you, Alyt. But I cannot allow you to bring a military force into our territory. It's not that I don't trust you, you understand, but the safety of my people requires me to be ever cautious."

The Minbari's eyes narrowed. "Do you understand, Narn, that the duty I carry is to uphold the honor of the Minbari? Do you understand that we come seeking vengeance against the animals who cut down our leader when we offered them the honor of a peaceful contact? You expect me to simply take your word that the humans have not and will not be here? How can I entrust you with such a responsibility?"

 _Have the last two years of slaughter not been enough to satisfy your Minbari honor_? "I am afraid that you will simply have to trust me. This system has a growing fleet base. It would be impossible for the humans to sneak by us. But, as I said, I cannot allow you to bring a force of warships into our territory. I take the safety of my people very seriously."

"As I take the safety of _my_ people," the Alyt responded. He started to say more, but was interrupted as another Minbari, dressed in robes, approached and whispered something in his ear. Startled, the Alyt turned and had a brief but intense conversation with the...man? G'Kar found it difficult to tell with the Minbari when they wore those flowing robes. The Alyt turned back to face him, and G'Kar could tell immediately that something was wrong. "Trust you, you say? How exactly am I to _trust_ you, Narn, when first thing you said to me, apart from your name, was incorrect? The humans _have_ been here. Our scouts found the remains of a human freighter, complete with the bodies of the human crew, in the outskirts of your system. How do you explain this, Narn? Particularly when you were just telling me that the presence of your 'fleet base' would make it impossible for the humans to pass unnoticed. What am I to think? If it is true that the humans couldn't sneak past you, then you clearly are helping them. Which would mean you are the allies of our enemy. The other possibility is that you are simply incompetent to secure your own space, and the humans slipped past your forces with ease. Either way, the humans have penetrated your territory, and I intend to hunt them down and destroy them!"

" _You may not pass_ ," G'Kar hissed. "Take it up with your Ambassador, if you do not like it."

"May I not?" the Minbari asked with a sneer. "Will you try to stop me? What do you suppose that effort will prove? Will it prove that the Narns are our enemy, or will it prove that the Narns are incompetent? Let's find out."

Before G'Kar could say another work, two spears of green fire erupted forward from the Minbari cruiser. They swept downward, and in less time than it took G'Kar to cry out in horror, the two G'Quan class heavy cruisers flanking the Chad'rasha Narn, one to port and the other to starboard, were bisected neatly in half. The cruisers themselves did not seem to realize immediately that they had been killed, as it took a few more seconds before flame and secondary explosions spewed from them. Not a single Narn made it to the escape pods. Not a single Narn from either vessel survived.

"SHROCK!" G'Sten cried out in horror. "All ships, lock on all weapons and prepare to.."

G'Kar's hand clamped down hard on the Warleader's shoulder. " _Do nothing_ ," he hissed softly.

"What?! G'Kar, we cannot let this stand! This was an attack against us, in our very territory!"

"I am in command here, uncle, and you will _do nothing_!" Turning back to the display, he found the Alyt smirking at him. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to threaten or shout at the man. Instead, he plastered a stiff smile to his face, and gave a small bow. Rising, he let the smile fall from his face, and said only, "Welcome to the Narn Regime," then waved for the channel to be cut. "Uncle, bring the fleet about and head back to base at maximum speed."

"You're going to just let them get away with this?" G'Sten asked, aghast.

"Yes, though I will try to make their task harder."

"In the name of G'Quan, why?"

"You know the answer."

"Explain it to me anyway, G'Kar," he said, though he then gave the order to return to base at maximum thrust.

G'Kar sighed. "Tell me Uncle. Are our ships more advanced than the humans? More powerful?"

"Yes. Of course."

"How much?"

"By at least a generation. Possibly two or three."

"I see. And can we match the humans' industrial output?"

"No."

"How about their population? Their economy? How about the resources they had access to?"

"No, on all counts. We are not far behind, but if I am to be honest, then my answer must be no."

"Then tell me, Uncle, if we had gone to war with the Earth Alliance, instead of the Minbari, would we have won the war?"

G'Sten looked thoughtful. "I cannot say for certain. I think so."

"But it would have been close? It could potentially go either way?"

"Yes," the Warleader said reluctantly.

"Then how, in the name of G'Quan, could you possibly expect us to do anything against the Minbari save meet the same fate as the humans? They would devour us like a plate of breen. Are you prepared, Uncle, to lead our own refugee fleet, with the last remnants of our people, out into the stars, in the slim hopes that the Minbari or the Centauri will not chase down that fleet and exterminate it, along with the rest of our people?"

G'Sten was silent, as were the rest of the bridge crew. Considering that matter to be solved, G'Kar asked another question. "What is the fastest ship we have in the system?"

This startled G'Sten, but he thought for a moment and answered, "There are a couple of Sho'Kos patrol cutters in the system. They are likely the fastest vessels."

"Have a shuttle prepared. I will transfer over as soon as we are in range."

"Going somewhere, Nephew?"

"Yes. I need to make sure the humans get away before the Minbari catch them."

"Mercy, G'Kar?"

"Practicality. We don't want the Minbari finding the humans in our space. They might decide we've been sheltering them. Besides, aside from an official protest, it's the only means open to me for spitting in the pouch of that Alyt."


	9. Chapter 8 - Ambush

Chapter 8 - Ambush

 **T'll, Narn Space - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248  
**  
Ivanova awoke in the pilot's locker room. She rubbed bleary eyes. _Damn it, not again._ She groped for the nearest console, looking for the time, so she could figure out how long she'd been asleep. Something floating through the air bumped into the side of her face. In annoyance, she reached up and snagged in out of the air, then looked at what was in her hand. It was a vial. An empty vial. The label didn't give a name, just a designation...Serum 8472. Glancing around, she saw two other identical vials floating through the air. She quickly gathered them up, and ascertained that they were both also empty. _What the hell_?

She felt a twinge in her arm. Some nascent instinct caused her to rip off her glove and roll up her sleeve. There, in the crook of her elbow, she saw three fairly recent needle marks. Concern turned to near panic. _What did they do to me_? And then that glove and sleeve registered on her whirling brain. _This isn't my flight suit_. Springing to the nearest mirror, she saw that she was wearing a hazardous environment suit.

Leaping across to the nearest terminal, she began a search on Serum 8472, almost absentmindedly noting the time. She had been out for hours. The system seemed to take an inordinately long time to return the information. Finally, it came up. _Serum 8472_ , she thought, scanning the details, _is an anti-radiation treatment_? An unapproved and highly experimental one. Human trials had barely begun, and no one had yet determined any potential side effects. Potentially extremely effective, but completely unobtainable while it went through human testing. _What the hell_? she thought again, feeling a bizarre mix of worry and relief. She had assumed it would be something like Flunitrazepan, that she'd been roofied. Now she just felt nauseous. Was that a side effect?

A thought occurred to her, and she returned to the mirror. The standard issue hazardous environment suit came complete with a radiation badge. Yes, there it was...dark brown. It should be white. Dark brown meant that it had absorbed a massive dose of radiation...just not one that would be entirely fatal to the occupant of the suit. Her hand began to shake. She felt something against her leg, in the pocket of the suit. Reaching in she drew out a standard medical injection gun. It would have fallen out of her hand to the floor, had she not been in zero-G. She put it back in her pocket, then shoved the three vials in after it. She hurriedly stripped out of the suit and crammed it into her locker, glad to see her flight suit in there, along with other clothes.

She pulled out her flight suit and hurriedly began to dress. She was just starting on the various connections when the alarms began to blare. Battlestations had been called. She hurried her pace, just as Ironheart burst into the room.

"Wow," he said. "You're fast. I was just down the hall. What, do you sleep here?"

 _I wish_ , she thought to herself. _It's better than the various alternatives_. Instead, she asked, "What's going on?"

"No idea," he said, starting to change into his flight suit, just as other pilots began charging into the room. Several of them nodded to her, appreciating the fact that she was already fully suited up. It eased Susan's nerves just a bit. Rather than every member of the squadron gunning for her, she had somehow become their unofficial mascot. She was the cute kid sister. Half of them mothered her, the other half acted like older brothers, always having her back. She was starting to feel at home amongst these people.

"Attention on deck," Commander Bester barked, swinging into the room. He almost never did that, but the squadrons still came to attention with practiced ease. "We're not under attack. The freighter and ore processing ship King Solomon's Mines just went up like a Roman Candle. In case any of you weren't paying attention, that's where we had stored and were refining all of our newly acquired Quantium 40, which means our stocks are back down to basically zero. More importantly, it also means that the explosion was very powerful. None of the passenger liners, Earth Force ships, or other mission critical vessels were nearby, precisely due to concerns over an explosion. Nonetheless, dozens of smaller shuttles, transports and other civilian vessels were caught in the blast. Many were destroyed, others were badly damaged. We have spacesuited individuals who were doing EVA work, or who found themselves in a burning vessel, drifting hither and yon. All fighter squadrons are being dispatched. We will be assisting with the search portion of search and rescue. Get to your birds and get in the black, now. Dismissed."  
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"Jeff, you've gotta see this," Garibaldi said, bursting through Sinclair's office door.

"Michael, you might have noticed that I'm a tad busy just now. You know, coordinating a massive search and rescue operation and trying to maintain an effective fighter screen. I really need to get my butt into a Starfury, and be out there leading from the front."

"Trust me, Jeff," Garibaldi said, closing the office door. "You need to see this first." He approached a computer panel on the wall and activated it. Punching up a series of keys, he brought up a video showing a large freighter and a number of much smaller vessels. It was of unusually high quality. "The King Solomon's Mines was off to the side of the fleet, to keep any potential blast from doing much damage to the rest of the fleet."

"Quantium 40 is some volatile stuff. An explosion was always a danger."

"Which is what they want us to think."

"What who wants us to think?"

Instead of answering, Garibaldi played the video. It was clearly the King Solomon's Mines, as several seconds into the video the ship detonated in a massive explosion, clearly destroying all of the ships nearest to it.

"Because it was off to the side, all of the video we have of the explosion, and it's a lot, basically come from this angle, showing its port side. Convenient, don't you think?"

"How is that convenient?"

"Because it doesn't show the starboard side. Or rather, that's inconvenient for us, convenient for whoever dreamed this up."

"Michael, you're not making any sense. Who dreamed what up?"

"You know me Jeff. Suspicion is in my job description, and when I started looking at all this video, the fact that every last bit of it showed the port side of that ship started and itch in my brain that I just needed to scratch." He stepped the video back several seconds. "You may have noticed the high resolution of this video. That's because this vid comes from the Hubble. It's one of IPX's system exploration and investigation ships. It comes in after a system has been claimed and does detailed scans, charting out the system for hazards and goodies. It's small, but it's packed with tons of sciencey gizmos."

"The point, Michael," Sinclair said, becoming more than little annoyed.

"Because the resolution is so high, we can do this." He zoomed the video in on a shuttle just astern of the King Solomon's Mines. He continued to zoom in until the image was pulled in tight on the windscreen of the shuttle, clearly revealing the faces of the pilot and copilot. "This shuttle is both behind and on the far side of that ship, just coming around it before the explosion. And right in the middle of that windscreen, if you pay attention, is the reflection of the King Solomon's starboard side."

Indeed, now that Sinclair was looking for it, he _could_ make out a fuzzy image, ghostly over the top of the shuttle's interior and crew. Michael continued, "Apparently my staff is more talented that I thought, because one of them was able to filter out the background, and just get us that reflection." He pressed another button, and the shuttle and background disappeared, leaving just the fuzzy image. It was clearly distorted by the shape of the canopy, but the ship was discernible, including running lights and even the ship's name, backwards due to the reflection.

Garibaldi hit play, and Sinclair saw a series of six flashes race up the side of the ship from stern to bow, followed by the explosion of the ship itself. From the first flash to the explosion, less than a second elapsed.

Sinclair lurched to his feet. "What the hell was that?"

"I'll tell you what it wasn't," Garibaldi said, ticking items off on his fingers. "It wasn't the ship's running lights. There are none in those areas. It wasn't pre-detonations of the Q40. Once that stuff goes, it all goes at once. It wasn't a fire on board the ship, seen through portholes. Too fast, too bright, and no portholes in that area anyway. It wasn't any of the ship's systems rupturing or exploding. I checked the schematics. Nothing important runs through the areas those flashes came from. It also wasn't an explosion or series of explosions from inside the ship. That would almost certainly have set off the Q40 earlier, and besides there is no ejecta. At least, not as much as you would expect to see if the explosions happened _inside_ the ship."

"What does that leave," Sinclair asked, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"The only thing I can think of that seems to fit the bill would be a series of coordinated exterior detonations...breaching charges."

"Sabotage." Sinclair hissed the word, visibly shaken. He took a deep breath, regaining control. "I don't know that this video will be sufficient evidence. Not for anything approaching a trial. It also doesn't tell us _who_. Who would do this? Do you have any other leads?"

Garibaldi grimaced. "I've got some trusted individuals running down some possibilities, but it's all just shots in the dark."

"What about physical evidence from the explosion?"

"From a Q40 explosion? If you've got some way of reassembling evidence from component atoms, you let me know, because that's about all you're going to find."

"So all we've got is a distorted image reflected off a shuttle's canopy? That won't get us very far."

"At least we know that someone in the fleet intends us harm?"

"Yeah, but who?" Sinclair asked, frustrated.

"We're working on it, but right now it could be anyone. Disgruntled Marsie, serial killer, suicidal civie...hell, I'm even considering a Minbari sleeper agent."

That comment elicited a small chuckle from Sinclair, imagining a Minbari with a wig taped over his bone crest. "That's a bit of a long shot."

"You gotta cover all the bases."

Sinclair nodded, then said, "Keep this tight for the time being. Just the Captains and your most trusted investigators, and no more than a handful of those. If word of this gets out, we'll have chaos on our hands. The fleet already has plenty of that. Anything else, Michael?" At the shake of Garibaldi's head, he headed for the door. "Good work on this. I mean that. Now I've got to get my butt into the black. There are a lot of scared civies out there who need rescuing. It's going to be a long night."  
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Another long night. The latest is a series of long nights and long days. G'Kar sighed. The hunt was almost over. He sped from system to system sending out scouts in all directions to locate the humans. Apparently ignoring them, pretending they weren't there in the hopes of establishing plausible deniability, had been a truly bad idea. The Minbari were acting completely irrationally. But you didn't tell a homicidal maniac that he was insane. It wasn't good for your health.

The Captain looked over his shoulder at G'Kar. "Ambassador, what are you expecting to find out here? Even our prospectors don't come this far out into the outskirts of the system. It's too much fuel, for too little reward.

"You will know it when you see it, Captain. Just head for the coordinates we received earlier."

"We should be there shortly, Ambassador. There's a large planetoid coming up, as well as a small swarm of smaller asteroids and comets. Your coordinates are on the far side."

Less than half an hour later they passed the planetoid, decelerating. It wouldn't do to go through an asteroid swarm at too high a velocity. It would be hard for the sensors to pick out smaller hunks of rock which might be lurking in their path. At interplanetary speeds, an impact could destroy any but the most heavily armored ships. The planetoid itself was only discernible by the stars it occluded. This far out from the local star, it was merely a large black mass, hanging in the void.

As they began to pass through the asteroid swarm, an alert chimed. The Captain looked down at his console in consternation. "There are six small craft approaching," he said in astonishment. "They appear to be fighters." At a further chime from his panel he added, "they have opened a comm channel. Audio only."

G'Kar nodded for the channel to be patched over the bridge speakers. "Attention, Narn craft," came the disembodied voice. "This is Commander Bester of the Earth Force. Cut your forward velocity and identify yourselves."

"Cut our…?" G'Kar spluttered in surprise. "Commander, it's a bit arrogant of you to tell the Narn where we can and cannot go in our own space. As for identification, this is Ambassador G'Kar. I presume you know who I am?"

"Yes, Ambassador." The human sounded either tired or annoyed. G'Kar couldn't tell which. "Such a pleasure to see you again. What can we do for you?"

"You can explain to me what you are still doing in Narn space. Our agreement was for your fleet to make passage...expeditiously."

"We've had a number of challenges delay us, Ambassador. Rest assured, we are making our way out of your territory at our best speed."

"Then perhaps you should discover a better speed, Commander. The Minbari have arrived in Narn space and have begun searching for you. I have no idea how far behind me they are, but rest assured, Commander, they are coming. The Narn Regime has no intention of confronting them militarily. It would be best for both of us if you are not here when they arrive."

That got the human's attention. "Understood. Ambassador, we have had a catastrophic explosion aboard one of our ships. The blast caused damage to a number of others. We are effecting repairs, but right now our fleet truly cannot make good speed. We hope to leave this system within a day or two, and make our way out of your territory as quickly a possible. But...it would be very helpful if you could stall."

" _Stall_?!," G'Kar said in astonishment. "You want me to _stall_ the _Minbari_?!" He sighed. "I shall do what I can, Commander. Do what you can to get your fleet moving. If you should be caught here, I don't think either of us would enjoy the experience. The Minbari have already destroyed two Narn warships in a display of force. They will go where and do what they want, without regard to justification."  
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 **Quadrant 24, Narn Space - Minbari Fleet - December, 2248**

"Your attack was completely unjustified, Alyt," Delenn hissed. "We haven't even finished our war with the humans, and now you are trying to start one with the Narn?"

"Vi drosh, Satai Delenn. However, we had evidence of the humans' passage through the system. The Narn were either lying or incapable of securing their own system. They understood our mission, yet still refused us passage."

"Then what you should have done was report back to your superiors. Only the Grey Council can decide to open hostilities. You do not have the right to court war by attacking anyone you choose."

Shai Alyt Branmer stepped forward. "Delenn, I agree that the Alyt may have been a bit...hasty. But if we want to finish this war, especially if we are to catch those humans who flee from us, then we need to allow our officers a certain amount of latitude." The Shai Alyt was one of the few Warrior Caste with whom Delenn was truly comfortable. Perhaps that was because he had previously been of the Religious Caste, a High Priest no less.

"That cannot include the freedom to open fire on the vessels of species with whom we are not at war," Delenn said, somewhat mollified, "barring only self defense."

Coplann spoke up, "And why not, Delenn? The rules of war state that anyone who aids our enemy is our enemy. The Narn were aiding the enemy, either by their intent or by their incompetence."

"And we do not know _which_ it was," Delenn snapped. Our laws do not allow for people to be punished because of mistakes."

"This is not a legal proceedings, Delenn, it is war. A war that cannot end, under the bizarre and legalistic protocols you have rammed through this council, until every human colony is depopulated and until that fleet is smashed. The Narn's error, which lead to this unfortunate situation, wasn't in allowing the humans passage. That was regrettable, but it could be forgiven. No, the mistake was in refusing our ships passage to hunt the humans. By barring our way, by using warships to do so, they were intentionally giving aid to the enemy, and using military force to do so. That made them enemy combatants, and gave the Alyt every right to do as he did. Indeed, he showed more restraint than required, in teaching the Narn a lesson by only destroying two of their vessels, rather than annihilating them all. This is the only way to judge the Alyt's actions, under your own war protocols."

The Alyt in question seemed to be doing his best to fade into the background. He was the lowest ranking individual in the room. Best not to be to obtrusive when your superiors argued. Delenn spared him barely a glance before responding the Coplann. "It is the right of every species to defend their borders. What would you have us do? Run roughshod over all of them? Destroy anyone who stands up to us?"

"Yes. If they stand between us and the humans, if they provide shelter to the enemy, that is exactly what I would have us do."

"Coplann, the humans were well liked. They saved many species from the Dilgar. Races allowing them passage may very well simply be trying to honor their obligations. We should not reward that honor with death and destruction."

"The humans are without honor, Delenn. This was decided. There can, therefore, be no honor in aiding them. That fleet must be destroyed for this war to end. We can be merciful to those who stand in our way, but we must be implacable. Delenn," he continued. "Haven't you been telling us that we may soon need to lead all of these races against a greater threat? That we may need to protect them and teach them to fight properly against a greater enemy? It is best we establish Minbari authority in that regard now. If we are to be teachers, then we may need to administer punishment to get these races to fall in line. That is what the Alyt was doing. He was teaching the Narn a lesson about respecting Minbari authority, as one would teach a child. Haven't the Centauri been telling us for generations now that the Narn are as children?"

"You do not usually kill the child to teach it a lesson," Delenn spat. "Will you drive a fleet into Centauri space? Go to war with the Abbai and the Yolu? Tell me, Coplann, should the humans seek refuge with the Vorlons, will you take warships into their space and _demand_ passage?"

Coplann blanched, then responded, "If the humans are foolish enough to enter Vorlon space, then they deserve their fate. Still, Delenn, I understand your point. However, we cannot allow that fleet to escape. Do you have a solution?"

Delenn turned and looked at the Alyt who had caused this entire debate. "Ni moshna, Alyt. Perhaps I have been too critical of you. Coplann is correct. Your actions did conform to the current war protocols. Please try to be more diplomatic in the future." Turning back to face Coplann and Branmer, she continued, "The fault is ours. This council should have contacted the various alien governments to whom the humans might flee. We should have made them understand that we will follow the humans wherever they go, until we finally catch them. We should have arranged our passage diplomatically, peacefully, beforehand. We will start by sending out messengers to each of the nearest alien governments, to convey these messages." She looked to Shai Alyt Branmer again. "Where are the humans most likely to go next?"

"We believe they will head for Centauri territory."

Turning back to Coplann, she said, "Then we will go to Centauri territory and discuss the matter with them personally." She met Coplann's considering gaze. She could have called for a vote, but if she convinced this man, there would be no need. If he agreed, then his adherents would as well, and the vote would be unanimous.

Coplann considered her for several moments, then gave a shallow nod. "Agreed, Delenn. Let us go and speak with the Centauri."  
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As the meeting broke up, Coplann drew Branmer into a nearby room. "What is the status of extending our beacon net into Narn space?"

"It is progressing, Satai Coplann. Is this not something which should have been discussed in the council meeting?"

"No. Facilitating the tactics of chasing the human fleet is a matter for the Warrior Caste. Handling the logistics may fall to the Workers, but this is a Warrior decision. Delenn didn't argue tactics, just that we should proceed diplomatically when coming into the territories of other races. Movement through Narn space, however, has already been established. We need a beacon network. I won't have our fleet trapped, having to hunt their way home, should the Narn decide to start tampering with their beacons the way the humans did."

Branmer gave a nod, then continued. "Narn space is nearly as large as the human territory was. Extending the beacon network throughout their space and building jump gates in key systems is a major task, particularly since you want to keep this hidden from the Narn. In order to accomplish this quickly, I have ordered a number of forward depots set up in hidden locations. These depots are being stocked with the necessary supplies to facilitate the construction of the network."

"Good. Keep me apprised, Shai Alyt. Depending upon how far the humans get, we may need to extend the network several times. Let's use Narn space to refine our process."

"Agreed, Satai Coplann."  
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 **  
T'll, Narn Space - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248  
**  
"Preparations completed for exfiltration, Captain. The fleet should begin system departure within the hour."

Levitt nodded. They were already well overdue for leaving the system. The explosion of the King Solomon's Mines had damaged a lot of vessels, crippling a number of them. Given how crowded the fleet had become, abandoning those ships had been deemed unacceptable, even if space could be found for their passengers. The decision had been made to repair them. Fortunately, they had plenty of capacity for that type of work, and the repairs had proceeded apace. Then Ambassador G'Kar had arrived with his warning that the Minbari were coming, and the work had shifted into overdrive, the frenetic activity seemingly at odds with the peace and sterility of the encompassing void.

But, finally, the work was completed and it was time to get going. "Good work, Lieutenant Commander. Begin final system checks. I want to get underway at the first possible moment."

"Aye, Captain," she responded. However, it was not ten minutes later that an alarm chirped and Kathway looked up. "Maam, one of our stealth sats on the far side of the planetoid is picking up some anomalous energy readings."

"Details?" Levitt asked.

Before Kathway could respond, another alarm sounded, and Kathway cursed. Not taking her eyes from the sensor readings, she called out, "Jump point forming….Minbari vessels entering system."  
Levitt didn't hesitate. She keyed an emergency comm channel which had been set aside for exactly this type of contingency. The broadcast went out to the entire fleet. "Condition Black, Condition Black. All vessels go to maximum EmCon!" She felt, rather than heard, the mighty engines of the Eratosthenes wind down.

Lieutenant Sakai, manning communications today, called out, "All fleet comms traffic has ceased. We are receiving status requests from the Midway, Lexington, and Nova via tight-beam lasers."

"Transmit all readings on the Minbari through to them."

Kathway turned to her and said, "All fleet ships have killed their engines and stepped back to minimum emissions. Orders?"

"Continue as is for now. I need to make some calls. You have the bridge."  
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"No further Minbari vessels have entered the system in the last twenty-four hours," Sinclair reported. The Council was meeting via comm channel, broadcast over tight-beam laser. Normal communications and inter-ship travel had been restricted, in order to provide the minimum possible signature for the Minbari to detect. Energy levels across the fleet had also been drawn down to bare minimums, and all external lights and heat sources had been damped as much as possible.

Still, what really kept the fleet safe was good fortune. The Minbari had entered the system on the far side of a planetoid the fleet had been near. The fleet had slowly and cautiously pulled in tight to the rear of the planetoid, carefully keeping it between them and the Minbari ships.  
Those ships had made their way to another planetoid, some ten million kilometers distant. Then they began their landings. The Minbari were also trying to remain unobtrusive. They kept a cruiser and fighter patrols up; left them in close to the planetoid. Their stealth fields were up, blanketing the entire area. Fortunately, the stealth satellites which had been seeded around the area for fleet security were able to keep an eye on the Minbari at almost all times, even when the rotation of their planetoid placed it between then and the fleet's own position.

There was a lot to keep an eye on. A steady stream of Minbari vessels had arrived and departed; freighters mostly, interspersed with warships. They continued to stay close to their planetoid maintaining a low profile. The freighters landed and began disgorging materials and supplies at a prodigious rate. Then they began to build.

Facilities went up at an amazing rate. A small habitat and bunker. Landing fields and warehouses being filled with materials of all kinds. And a defensive battery of six massive cannon.

The fleet had watched in horror, trapped, as the Minbari had built what was clearly a military supply depot practically on their front doorstep. Running wasn't an option, at least not until they had no further choice. Even if opening jump points wouldn't have set off every sensor the Minbari had; the Minbari ships were arriving with such regularity that the fleet would almost certainly run into them in hyperspace. They were trapped. And so, reluctantly, they huddled tight to their own planetoid, and watched the Minbari construct their base.

It was done in just three days. After that, the flow of Minbari vessels dried up entirely, leaving a manned and operational surface base. The Council meeting was called, to discuss their next move. Sinclair had been updating them on the Minbari movements.

"So what do we do now," Garibaldi asked.

"We back away, slowly," Levitt said. "With the proper calculations we can keep this planetoid between us and the Minbari as we pull out of the system. We don't know the range at which Minbari sensors can detect a jump point, but I'd suggest we triple or even quintuple the range at which our own sensors would pick one up before we exit the system, just to be on the safe side."

"It would take the fleet several days to get to that kind of range," Gideon noted. "Even keeping the planetoid between us and that Minbari base, we'd be painfully obvious to any Minbari ships entering the system. Just because we haven't seen any for a day doesn't mean that they won't be visiting."

"We could just make a run for it," Lochley suggested. "They have no ships here to give chase."

"They certainly have communication with their forces, though," Garibaldi said. We know their are Minbari ships in the area. As slow as the fleet is, if we give away our position by running for it, it won't be long before those ships overtake us."

"We can't hide here forever," Lochley responded. "Sooner or later they'll notice us. If anyone has any alternate suggestions, I'm all ears."

"We attack," Bester, Sinclair, and Sheridan all said in unison, then started in surprise. They glanced at each other with bemused grins.

"I'm not sure that's wise," Levitt said cautiously.

Garibaldi was much more blunt. "You want to _attack_ a Minbari military base. _Are you crazy_?"

"You better hope we're crazy like a fox, Michael, because as far as I can see, this is our only chance. We have to take out that base before it can get a signal off to it's fleet," Sinclair said. "That will give us a chance to run, and get some distance before the Minbari start chasing us."

"And how do you plan to take out that base? You did notice the giant fraggin' space guns?"

Sheridan stepped in. "The Minbari have made a tactical error. More than one, actually, but the biggest one is this...they've just negated their stealth advantage."

"Excuse me?" Levitt asked. "Our sensors clearly show that their stealth fields are active."

"Yes," Sheridan allowed, "but they put all of their defenses into that base. They have no ships, no fighters that we can see, not even any defense satellites. Just one admittedly sturdy and well armed ground base. But you see, when we entered the system, we did what the Minbari didn't….we precisely analyzed, mapped, and charted the entirety of the nearby area. It turns out it was worth while bringing along those civilian astronomical survey vessels.

"The Minbari built their base on a planetoid whose position, rotation, and surface features we have recorded down to submeter precision. We can see from the surface terrain they built upon exactly where that base is. Our sensors may _now_ be telling us they are in a different location, but simple orbital and rotational mechanics, based upon previous observations, gives us their actual location. We can finally hit them with consistency."

"Space guns?" Garibaldi asked "Am I the only one who remembers the giant space guns? We've never seen them before, but given their size, they almost certainly outrange our weaponry. There's ten million klicks between us and that base. They're _going_ to see us coming, and carve us to pieces before we can respond. And the Minbari have proven they can shoot down ground attack missiles with regularity."

"I was thinking an energy mine might still outrange those guns," Sheridan said. "It's a gamble, and we only have one left, but I don't see that we have a choice."

"Actually, Captain," Bester interrupted, "I've been analyzing the situation, and I think I have a way for the Starfuries to make the battle less costly."

Sheridan gave him a surprised look. "That's very good, Commander. But I'd hate to burn up our Starfury squadrons on a swarm attack. We just got them back up to strength, and the telepath factor may prove critical in the future."

"Nothing so crude, Captain. Though if you want to keep the telepaths safe, we could pull off the maneuver with just the normal pilots."

"No," Sinclair interrupted. "I think I had the same thought you did, Commander Bester, but if so we use all of the pilots. The additional numbers will be an added safety factor for everyone. Beyond that, when we run into Minbari fighters I won't be sending out the telepath pilots alone, unaided. By the same token, I won't keep them out of this fight just because that particular talent isn't needed. It's one fighter group. We live together, work together, fight together."

Bester grimaced, but then gave a sharp nod. Sinclair continued. "There is something else of which you should all be aware." He shunted an image to all of their screens. It showed the base. An oddity was circled in read. It showed a series of warehouses, which for some reason had been built dozens of kilometers from the main base. No additional defenses had been placed in that area, so the fleet had largely ignored it.

"The oddity of this construction got me curious. I had some sensor readings gathered, all passive, obviously. These warehouses are emitting a low level of radiation. A very particular kind of radiation. It's a Quantium 40 signature. If everything we saw being loaded into these warehouses was indeed Quantium 40, then commandeering them would recoup over eighty percent of the stocks we traded to the Narn."

That news got everyone's attention. "Assuming this even works, how long would it take us to load that much Q40?" Lochley asked.  
"I ran some calculations," Sinclair said. "Based on how long it took the Minbari to unload into them, and the available transport craft we have, including civilian, I'd bet that we could do it in less than eight hours. That's a dangerous rush. It might get some folks hurt. But I'd say it's worth the danger."

Everyone seemed to nod at that statement. "I think I agree that we have no choice but to attack," Lochley noted. "That being that case, why not add piracy to the bill."

"Piracy?" Garibaldi asked. "Nah. It's just a little light larceny. It can't be piracy. There's not an eyepatch or peg leg in sight."

Sinclair shook his head in amusement. "Regardless," he said, "I think Commander Bester and I have some planning to do. This may require some pilot realignment, but we were planning to do another round of ship transfers anyway. Captain Sheridan, if you have the time, it would be helpful to have you join that conversation. Does anyone have any further concerns?" As there were none, he continued, "Then we have work to do. Signing off."  
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Less than four hours later, the Midway and the Nova turned and, along with the fighter wings of the Mother and Eratosthenes, headed directly away from the Minbari position, carefully keeping the planetoid between themselves and the Minbari base. This left only the Lexington's single flight of fighters to guard the remaining fleet. Several hours later, the combat force reached their designated staging point.

The Midway launched three squadrons, so the Starfuries from the Mother and Eratosthenes could come aboard and be refueled. The Midway's squadrons were parked practically in contact with the ship, and the pilot's exited into vacuum and were pulled back into the ship by spacers in EVA rigs who had been awaiting them. The pilots were all expected to get a meal and catch a few hours of sleep. A few of them even managed to.

Hours later, those same pilots returned to their Starfuries, and the Nova and Midway launched the rest of them. Nine squadrons of Starfuries, one hundred and eight fighters overall, pulled into a tight formation. Jeffrey Sinclair, Commander Space Fighter Group, took his position at the point of the formation. He opened the comm channel for the Group, but dialed down the broadcast power to the point that no one more than a couple of kilometers away could pick it up. "We just received word from the fleet. Still no sign of any Minbari ships, so we are mission go. As of this moment, there is no turning back. This needs to be perfectly precise people. Your course has been programmed into your computers. You're going to feel out of control for a lot of this. You're going to have to trust that we've run the numbers correctly. Make sure your comm power has been set to minimum, then check in by squadron." He listened as each of the squadrons ran their own individual ship checks, then waited as one after another, each squadron leader checked in with him. Black Omega. Alphas Red, Blue, Gold, and Green. Epsilon Blue and Red. Delta Blue and Red. All nine squadrons, fully prepared and ready to fly.

"Set course," Sinclair commanded. "Initiate burn in three...two...one...burn." As one, all one hundred and eight Starfuries kicked forward at a precise two Gs of acceleration, under inertial compensation. Their speed literally rocketed upwards. In less than an hour, they were approaching the planetoid behind which the fleet sheltered. Their relative approach speed was over 350 kilometers per second, the planetoid visibly growing before them. Their path had been very carefully evacuated by the fleet.

That path brought them nose first into the planetoid. "Rotate upwards ninety degrees," Sinclair ordered. "Twenty second burn at eight Gs on my mark. Mark!" The kick was just enough to take them off of a collision course. They flashed over the planetoid at incredible speed, passing directly between two immense mountains so quickly that it was barely discernible by the human eye.

They flashed out past the planetoid and into the open space between it and the Minbaris' own...just moments after the rotation of that other body took the Minbari base over its horizon. Sinclair sent a final communication to his people. "Settle in for the next eight hours people. That's how long it will take to cross the ten million klicks to our target. We'll do another extremely low level pass over the horizon just as it's rotation will be bringing the Minbari base back around. We'll cross their visible horizon less than fifteen klicks from their position, and we will already be firing by the time we do. They will not have the time to react, and our relative speed should make that all but impossible anyway, but we will begin evasive maneuvering just prior to becoming visible to them. I want to minimize the possibility of casualties. Squadron leaders, one last check of your people. This will be the last communication until after the battle. I want a complete comm blackout from here on in. Acknowledge." After receiving those acknowledgements, Sinclair performed a few more checks of his systems. Then he settled back to wait.  
Eight hours seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. Sinclair resisted the urge to break comm silence and issue any final instructions. They knew what they needed to do. He just had to trust that they would remember. Or rather, he had to trust that they would follow the instructions already programmed into their flight computers.

And they did. At the appropriate time he saw every Starfury in view pivot downward to the appropriate firing angle. Then they began to jink wildly, going into a series of random but sharp maneuvers, while still maintaining the appropriate firing position. His timer counted down. They passed an invisible point in space, designated the attack point. All one hundred and eight ships began to rapidly flush their missile racks. Heavy ground attack missiles had been loaded to all eight hardpoints. Sinclair watched in satisfaction as Eight hundred and sixty-four missile tracks streaked towards the horizon, just as their pulse discharge cannons opened up. The Minbari base appeared to crest that horizon, just in time for the missiles to strike. Sinclair caught the barest flash of the base, including six massive cannons, disappearing in the stroboscopic effect of all those missiles impacting. Then their relative velocity of over 350 kilometers per second swept the flight group past. He knew at least a few of their pulse discharges struck the base as well. Not that it made much difference.

His displays automatically switched to the rear view cameras and zoomed in. He grunted in shock as he saw the barrels of all six cannon, poking up above the still flaring blasts of the missiles, swivel and align on his fighter group at an astonishing speed.

He broke comms silence to scream "Evade!" _That was stupid_ , he thought, _we're already evading_.

Despite those desperate evasive maneuvers, despite the incredible speed at which they were receding, despite the absolutely minimal time they had given the Minbari to react, two of those cannon still fired, spearing Starfuries out of the sky. _We had to hit every one of those cannon with multiple heavy missiles and pulse blasts. We didn't manage to disable a single one of them. That DAMNED Minbari armor!_ He cursed silently. They hadn't manage to disable a single cannon. Every one was tracking his formation, targeting in for the next kill.

Which meant they weren't pointed anywhere near the Nova, when it crested the horizon. From less than twelve kilometers distance, it fired every one of its forward laser cannon, all preaimed. Fourteen lasers streaked out at six cannon, two a piece, plus two that were allowed to pick their own targets. Every Minbari cannon lurched crazily, then ground to a halt, immobilized. The first salvo had disabled them. The second blasted them to scrap. The third blasted the scrap to rubble. The following salvos merely stirred the rubble. They kept right on stirring until the moment the shuttles touched down.

When the Starfuries had entered the space between the two planetoids, the Nova and several shuttles had almost immediately passed them, accelerating hard. Around the halfway mark they had turned over and begun decellerating just as hard. The Starfuries had flashed passed them again at almost the same time they opened fire on the Minbari base. The Nova and shuttles had slowed to the point where they came in at a relative crawl, able to practically loiter over the base.

As the shuttles touched down amid the ruins of the former base, Sinclair could see armored figures pouring out of them. He was far enough away now that, despite the computer's best magnification, those figures looked like ants. Astonishingly, Minbari warriors came out to greet them, firing with precision. However, he heard a distinctive voice clearly shouting. "Form it all up! Everything you got! Come on you apes. You wanna live forever?!" A massive firefight broke out. _Damn it, Michael. You weren't supposed to be leading the assault_.

There was nothing he could do about that now. "All fighters, full decel. Let's get turned around and head back to the barn." Most of the fleet would already be jumping out. His cameras caught the first heavy transports, descending on the Q40 warehouses. "I think we've overstayed our welcome. Time to move along."

Within eight hours, not a single living human would remain in T'll.  
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 **  
Hilak, Narn Space - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248**

"Is this real wine?" Tessa asked.

"I hear this place serves only the best," Susan responded. They were meeting for lunch at one of the finest restaurants still in operation aboard the Titanic.

Tessa smiled and raised her glass. "Then here's to you. Triple ace. Very impressive. Does the title come with a cape or a crown?"

"Hah, hah, very funny. It was just a few raiders in completely obsolete fighters. Besides, you're one to talk. I hear you single handedly chased down and apprehended a serial killer. That's got to come with a promotion, right?"

"Don't believe everything you hear. I single handedly chased down and apprehended a flasher. I know he was a flasher, since he provided me with incontrovertible evidence. At night. After a long shift. On my way home to finally get some sleep. Which I never did get, because after chasing down his stupid ass, I had to spend the next several hours filling out paperwork. The local journalist wanna be's know I'm on the serial killer case, though, and decided that he must be the culprit. Captured serial killer makes for a catchier title than captured pervert. No, the telepath killer is still out there. Which is why I'm glad to see you're packing."

"Just part of the uniform, when I'm not on my own ship."

"I'm still glad to see it. And don't tell me it was just a few raiders. Triple ace means fifteen kills. I know that much. You don't go from common cadet to ace pilot in a few months without a lot of hard work. I imagine you know what lost sleep feels like."

"And how!" Susan said with feeling. "The workload is crazy. And the few times I actually get to rack out...well, let's just say that one of my roommates has no compunctions about bringing her boyfriend, who just happens to be my wingman, over for...entertainment. Even when Lyta and I are in the room."

Tessa laughed. "They can't possibly be that loud. Can they?"

"Let's just say that it's really nice to be around a friend who isn't getting any."

Tessa slapped on a fake offended look, her hands on her hips. "Now why would you assume that?"

"It's the way you're sitting." Susan said it with a straight face, but then burst out laughing when Tessa worriedly looked down to examine her seating position. "Actually, I heard through the rumor mill that you had broken up with Prince Charming. But that little display definitely confirmed it for me. I guess the badge scares them away."

"I will have you know that I have been asked out several times...ok, by one man several times."

"Ooohh. A _new_ Prince Charming. So are you going to take him up on the offer?"

"Eventually. We're just both so busy, working it out has been difficult."

"Somebody you work with?"

"No. Just some doctor I met."

" _Well_. A doctor. Don't we aim high."

"You're not at all funny, you know."

Susan laughed. "Of course I am. But I really was glad to get your message. It's been too long. I haven't been decked in almost forever."

Tessa laughed at that, but then Susan continued in a more tentative tone. "So...you don't mind...you know...having lunch with a telepath?"

Tessa smiled. "Do you mind having lunch with a dirty Marsie?"

"Of course not. I can't tell that you're dirty at all. The smell of pork completely covers it."

Tessa chuckled. "A lame cop joke? Where did this sense of humor come from?"

"Sorry, it's my squadron. They're actually hilarious. I still can't believe that Commander Bester cracks jokes sometimes. And they're actually funny. I guess they just bring it out in me."

"It suits you," Tessa said, just as their food arrived. They spent the next few minutes eating in companionable silence. Then Tessa took another sip of wine and changed topics. "I guess you were part of the raid on the Minbari base? I've got to tell you, that particular episode had all of the civilians pretty terrified. Me too, for that matter. Was it worth it?"

"Well," Susan responded carefully. "I don't think the fleet would have escaped if we had done anything else, so in that regard it was certainly worth it. We also nearly filled our holds with Quantium 40, and the old bean counters on Earth would certainly have counted that a major gain, no matter how many lives we lost. But, we didn't capture any worth while intelligence. The Minbari fought to the last man, and they take a lot to put down, so no wounded or unconscious prisoners to pick up. They also managed to scrub and destroy all of their computers. I hear that the IPX higher ups are rather disappointed in what little we were able to capture. They've filed a complaint with Captain Sheridan on the 'egregious and excessive use of force.' Apparently we ruined all of the toys they were hoping to get."

"You're kidding. They do remember there's a war on, don't they?"

"Who knows. I'm told they say it will take years or decades to learn anything from the rubble we collected. They do have some hope for reverse engineering the hand weapons we managed to collect. I'm also told they were excited to get all of the heavy Minbari armor we picked up. It's some kind of crystalline structure. They're working on that first."

"How many did we lose?"

"It wasn't too bad, actually. At least not compared to how things have generally gone for the last two years. We lost two Starfuries. During the ground assault, thirteen GroPos were killed."

"Wounded?"

"You don't tend to get wounded when fighting in vacuum. You're either fine or you're dead. I'm told they almost nailed your boss."

"Wait, what!? Garibaldi was there? He told us he was going to take a long nap."

"No, he was part of the assault. Lead it, actually. A near miss blew his Auricon right out of his hands," Susan said, referring to the Auricon Personal Plasma Gun Assault Rifle. It was the weapon of choice for fights in vacuum or shipboard actions. On a planet with the right conditions for larger numbers of troops to be deployed, the grunts had a significant array of weapons from which to be equipped. Everything from slug throwers and sniper rifles to lasers and explosive liquid spray guns.

"Damn. I thought he just mostly slept all the time."

"Guess not."

"Susan," Tessa said, a little hesitantly, "I didn't just want to meet with you to catch up. This is...semiofficial. It's part of an investigation. One that I need you to remain completely silent about."

"Ok," Susan said with some concern. "What can I help with?"

"It's about the King Solomon's Mines. We don't think the explosion was an accident. I'm told it was sabotaged. Whatever was done was done on the far side of the ship, away from the rest of the fleet. We have no real visuals. Garibaldi asked me to speak with you. You were running some scheduled training maneuvers on your own that day...high and low speed ship passes, right? Anyway, you were one of the few people to pass on the far side of the King Solomon's Mines that day that is still alive. I know that it's a long shot, but anything you might remember could really help us." Susan had paled visibly. "Is something wrong?" Tessa asked in concern.

Susan started. "No, sorry. It's just such a tragedy. I'm supposed to be protecting the fleet, and something like this just makes me feel helpless. I'm sorry," she said again, "but I can't help you. Remember what I said about missing sleep? I don't really even remember that flight." she said with complete honesty. "I'm so tired some days I find myself waking up in the middle of a meal, or getting into my flight suit."

"Are all the pilots that under rested?" Tessa asked. "That doesn't make me feel particularly safe.

"None of the other pilots are cadets in training, telepaths in training, active duty pilots, and pilots in training all at the same time. I thought I'd finally get some downtime once Commander Sinclair graduated us, but Commander Bester decided he didn't trust anyone else's training. He's putting all of the new members of Black Omega through his own training cycle. If anything, he's even worse than Sinclair, and we all called _him_ God. Well," she hedged, "technically he told us to do that."

"So there's nothing then?" Tessa asked, returning to her primary inquiry.

"No, I'm sorry."

"That's ok. I knew it was a longshot. But, if you think of anything, don't hesitate to comm me." She stood up smiling. "No rest for the wicked. I've got to get back now."

"Good luck with your investigations. Oh, and with your doctor."

"You to. Stay safe out there, Susan. I don't have many friends from Earth. I don't have many friends period. But, I'm starting to think Russians are a lot like Marsies. I hear it's nearly as cold."

"Colder," Susan said, standing with a grin. "But don't worry about me. We don't think the base had time to send out any Tachyon comms. Hopefully, we've given the Minbari the slip. Besides, I just got new orders. My wingman and I are being transferred to one of the Nova's squadrons. Apparently to brass is trying to make the squadrons more fluid. Get every pilot comfortable with every other. It's the strongest ship in the fleet. How could I possibly get into trouble on a dreadnought? "  
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"I am in so much trouble," Susan muttered to herself, carrying her ruck down the halls of the Nova. Beside her, Ironheart chuckled softly. The rather grizzled looking Chief they were following looked back over his shoulder and scowled at her. Then his scowl deepened as he glanced again at what was coming up behind them.

Susan sighed and turned around. Behind her were Talia and Lyta. Talia's sloppily arranged bags had spilled something else...some delicate piece of clothing...and she was busily chasing it down.

The Chief looked as though he might explode. Instead he turned to Ironheart and said, "I was told to expect two telepath pilots. No one said anything about two additional telepaths, civilians no less. Civilians should not be on a ship of the line during a time of war."

"I'm sure it was just a simple miscommunication, Chief," Ironheart said with a grin. Wherever Cadet Ivanova goes, those two go. They're her tutors. We wouldn't want her to fall behind in her studies.

 _Great. Thanks a lo_ t, thought Susan as the Chief's glare slid to her.

"You're a cadet? I was told you were an Ensign!" Judging by the color of the Chief's face, he did not find the situation anywhere near as amusing as Ironheart did.

"I am," Susan replied. "I am a serving commissioned Ensign. And, I am a cadet. Apparently, the two things are not mutually exclusive."

"As things stand, Susan will be a cadet for at least another three years," Ironheart cut in. "Assuming we live that long. But we wouldn't want it to take a day longer than necessary, which is why it is critical she maintain her studies."

"And how do a pair of civilian skirts help a cadet to keep up on her _military_ studies?"

"Well aren't you sweet," Lyta muttered under her breath. Louder, she called out, "by ensuring she knows how to control her telepath abilities, and keep them in check. This alleviates distractions from her other studies.

The Chief grunted, but resumed moving down the corridor. Rounding several more corners, they eventually came to a small hatch set in the wall. The Chief popped the hatch, then waved them inside. The room inside was barely larger than a closet. It contained two bunks, a small desk, a pair of lockers, and nothing else. "I was only told to expect two of you, so you're going to have to hot bunk for now."

"I don't know what that means," Talia said, looking in dismay at the tiny room.

Susan did know what it meant, and she agreed with how Talia felt. Instead of replying to her though, she addressed their reluctant host. "Chief, we can't all stay here. Regulations forbid a male member of Earth Force, officer or enlisted, from sharing accommodations with female civilians."

"Oh, we'll be _fine_ ," Ironheart said with a grin.

The Chief scowled at all of them. _Does he have any other expressions_? Susan wondered to herself. Then he responded to her. "Regulations also state that telepaths cannot share accomodations with normals. That would seem to be the higher precedence. I will look into finding separate accommodations for Lieutenant Ironheart. But, in the meantime, this will just have to do."

Susan was about to protest further, when the ship suddenly went to red alert. Sirens blared, and the Chief cursed. "You two need to get to your fighters. Follow me. You two," he said, turning on Talia and Lyta, "are to _stay_ in this room. Close and dog the hatch. Do not come out under any circumstances." With that, he spun about and launched himself out of the room.

"Be safe," Susan called to her two now very nervous looking friends. Then she sprang after the Chief, and Ironheart followed.  
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"Report," Sheridan barked. A horrified silence had settled over the bridge. On the main screen, for all to see, the remains of the Celebration, one of the White Star Liners, drifted slowly apart. It had been neatly bisected by a blossoming hyperspace vortex.

"No sign of escape pods, Captain," Takashima said softly, horror in her eyes. "The Celebration went down with all hands. My God. Two hundred thousand dead civilians…"

"Not the civilians, Lieutenant Commander!" Sheridan barked. "Report on the Minbari, and our defensive status!"

She shook herself, regaining her composure. "A single Minbari ship has emerged, sir. It's not one of their war cruisers, nor one of their escort frigates. We've only caught a few glimpses of this class before. It's believed to be a scout class. Or possibly one of their older ships. Maybe both. They're opening fire on all of the nearby civilian vessels. The Celebration was the only ship of any significant size nearby, but the Minbari a rapidly destroying the shuttles and minor freighters and transports in the area. They're launching fighters...six of them. Our own fighters are just hitting the black now."

"Order them to hold back. Where are the next nearest fighter squadrons?"

"Green Alpha was flying CAP nearby. They're vectoring in. The Eratosthenes and Lexington are launching their fighters. The Midway and Mother are launching as well, but they're quite a ways out, on the far side of the fleet. Lexington is headed this way under maximum burn."

"Order the fighters not to engage until the CAP arrives. We want at least a five to one advantage when we take on those fighters. Do we have a lock on the Minbari ship?"

"No, their stealth field is active. Sensors can barely even tell they're there."

"All guns to manual aiming. Fire at will. Engines to maximum. Let's close the range and see if we can't get some sort of a lock. I don't care how advanced the Minbari are. No scout ship can take on dreadnought, much less an entire task force."  
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"Hiai'sa Manier, the correlation of forces here would appear to be rather...disadvantageous. A scout ship is not designed to take on warships, much less an entire task force."

"Need I remind you, warrior, that the Temshwee is a Leshath class heavy scout? We are designed for combat. Besides, fighting the humans can hardly be called true combat. They cannot even strike us."

"That is one of their dreadnoughts coming at us, Hiai'sa. It's weapons are quite heavy. It is trying to close to a distance at which our stealth fields will not be fully effective."

"And we shall dance around them, using our greater speed to keep them at range, and to keep their formations confused. Shift all fire to the dreadnought. We need fear only their energy mine launcher, and they dare not use that within the press of all of their worker vessels. What is the status of their fleet?"

"Their worker vessels are in complete disarray. They are spread out over quite a distance, but even the ships farthest from us are panicking, running for wherever they might think to find safety. We've already tracked a number of minor collisions. We've damaged quite a few of the nearest ones as well. They'll have a hard time fleeing." The warrior noted some new information coming up on his display. "We are tracking a rather concerning number of their fighters. Over a hundred of them, converging on us. It could be a danger to us. We have a limited number of weapons with which to shoot them down."

"Have our fighters cease attacks on the worker vessels. They are to concentrate on the human fighters. Try to take them out in small batches. We are going to win this fight. I will stop this infernal chase, and have the honor of relegating Starkiller to the pages of history." Manier sighed. "I suppose we should report in."  
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"Red Delta Leader to squadron. Report in. By the numbers."

Ironheart listened as the squadron checked in pilot by pilot. At the appropriate point he called out "Red Delta 5, checking in."

"Red Delta 6, checking in," he heard Susan say next. They had taken over the final pairing of the Red Delta's first flight, the only telepaths in the flight. The second flight also had a telepath; one of the rookies just out of Sinclair's class.

Red Delta Leader spoke again. "Blue Delta just finished launching. Green Alpha is vectoring on our position. We're going to form up and hit that flight of Minbari fighters. That'll give us six to one odds. A cake walk."  
 _  
Yeah, right_ , Iron heart thought. At six to one odds, in most previous fights the human fighters would have been lucky to get away with a survivor or two. Of course, now they had a surprise in store for the Minbari. As the three squadrons headed towards combat with the Minbari fighters, he keyed his private channel to Susan. "Ok, Susie, now you get to find out why we were practicing all of those in flight telepathic connections."

"Call me Susie again, and the Minbari with be the least of your worries."

He chuckled, but continued, "Minbari stealth does not mask against telepathy. I'm going to detect the Minbari fighters, which will give me a feel for their true position. Then I'm going to share that information with you telepathically."

There was a very long pause, and then Susan said, "That sounds incredibly hard."

"It is, but it finally gives us a fighting chance. How do you think Bester got his three kills?" He strove to stay confident for Susan, but his own anxiety was riding high. He reached into a pocket on his flight suit and pulled out the pill bottle he kept there. It contained the cocktail of drugs he took every day. He was also receiving daily injections, and a special diet, but they trusted him to hang onto the pills himself. Sometimes after taking the pills he thought he felt a tiny bit stronger, but he had yet to notice any permanent effect. He stared at the pill bottle for a long moment. It was almost a week's worth of pills. He popped off the top and then, before he could change his mind, quickly tossed back the entire bottle and swallowed the pills dry.

"My God," he heard Susan whisper. She didn't sound like she was aware that she was transmitting.

"Focus, people," came Red Delta Leader's voice. "This just gives us more reason to wipe out those damned Minbari!"

Ironheart looked around. He had been focused on the pills, and had clearly missed what everyone else had noticed. Then he saw it. They were passing near to the Titanic. The Captain had clearly been focused entirely on the Minbari threat, rather than paying attention to his course while running away at maximum thrust. The ship had run directly into a large asteroid. Or perhaps it was a small comet, given all of the shards of ice he saw flying everywhere. The entire side of the ship had been ripped open. In and amongst the debris he saw thousands of bodies spilling out to be flash frozen in the icy vacuum of space. Tens of thousands. A few moments later, the stricken vessel's fusion reactor breached, and the entire vessel disappeared in a nuclear conflagration. "Those bastards," Ironheart heard himself shout. He realized a second later that he too was set to broadcast, but he didn't care. "Kill all of them!"

"Cut the chatter," Red Delta Leader ordered. "You'll get your chance. Here come the Nials. Weapons hot!"  
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"Maintain course! Maintain fire!" Sheridan shouted. The Nova screamed around him, lurching violently again and again. "Status of the Minbari?"

"We haven't laid so much as a finger on them, Captain," Takashima called out loudly. She was using an extinguisher to put out a fire which had started at one of the computer stations. "We aren't able to close the range. They keep moving away. That ship is faster than us."

"Inquire with Engineering about the possibility of going to one hundred and fifteen percent on the reactors."

Takashima responded a moment later. "Engineering says one hundred and fifteen percent is possible, but not recommended."

"Do it." A moment later the ship lurched again. "Damage report."

"They don't seem to be armed with any of their heavy Neutron Lasers. Thank God for small favors. But those Fusion Lasers hit damned hard for allegedly point defense weapons. Our armor is mostly holding, though we have several minor penetrations, and a number of compartments exposed to vacuum. We've got significant power fluctuations running through every one of the ship's systems, a number of structural members are showing signs of failure, and four of our Laser Cannon have been crippled. Sick bay is being flooded with casualties."

"Where's the Lexington?"

"Coming up fast on port side."

"Circle to starboard. Let's see if we can catch these boneheads between the two of us."  
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Ironheart's voice screamed over Susan's comm. "BREAK LEFT." Reacting almost on instinct, Susan did as commanded. Green beams streaked by her canopy, followed shortly by a darting Nial.

The fight had not gone well so far. The Minbari were coordinated, and had driven right through the heart of their formation like a wildly spiraling dagger. Red Delta Leader, the leader of Red Delta's second flight, and over half the squadron were all dead. Blue Delta was in even worse condition. Green Alpha, shockingly, had lost only a single Starfury.

Linking up with Ironheart had worked surprisingly well, he had even managed to get a single kill. Susan hadn't even come close. The telepath in Red Delta's second flight, Nancy something or other, Susan couldn't remember, had also managed to get a kill. Or rather, her wingman had. Seconds later, though, both she and her wingman had been killed as the Nials sought retribution. Some time after that, during another rush by the Minbari, she had gotten disoriented and found herself separated from Ironheart, no longer receiving his signal letting her know the true positions of the nearest Minbari. They were both trying to correct that now.

"Susan," his voice came again, "Bogey to your right! He's firing!"

Her Starfury lurched, and warning lights blazoned throughout the cockpit. "I'm hit, I'm hit! I'm hit in the starboard dorsal engine! I'm shutting it down!"

"Coming in, Susan. That bogey's still behind you. I'm maneuvering for a shot."

"Stay with him! Nail him!" She jinked wildly, trying to shake off her pursuer.

"Susan, I can't get him. He's all over the place!"

"Take him out, Jason! I can't get him off my tail!"

"Susan, on the count of three, break hard right. Three... two... one! Break right! Firing!"

Susan spun to starboard and kicked in full thrust. A split second later, a large fireball erupted behind her as Ironheart's rockets and pulser fire shattered the Nial which had been tracking her. A moment later Ironheart pulled his Starfury up next to hers, and she felt the telepathic flow resume.

"We've got a breather for a few seconds. Bester and Black Omega just arrived, and they're tussling with the remaining Minbari. I've got to reform the squadron." So saying, he switched over to the squadron channel and said, "This is Red Delta 5. I am assuming command of both Red and Blue Delta. All Delta Starfuries, gather on my location. Let's see if we can't pull ourselves back into a reasonable fighting force, before the next Minbari strike."  
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"We've got to get out of here, before the next Minbari strike," Talia insisted. They had stayed in their assigned room as ordered throughout the battle so far. But in the last few minutes the far wall had grown extremely hot. Flammable materials near it had begun to smoke, and Lyta had yanked the sheets and padding off of the bed frames to keep them from erupting. The temperature in the room had shot up by at least fifteen degrees, and they were both sweating profusely.

"We were told it was safest to stay here," Lyta replied.

"If we stay here, we're going to cook." Not waiting for a response, she unlocked and opened the door. _Stupid military lingo_ , she thought to herself. _Why call it a hatch when it is obviously a door_?

They emerged into a scene of bedlam. Half of a corpse drifted down the corridor. A substantial plasma fire was burning at one end, and they ducked to one side as a damage control party, in full spacesuits and lugging firefighting gear, went barreling past. The heat was intense, and the area was rapidly filling with acrid smoke, so they dove towards the far end of the corridor. Talia grabbed Lyta's hand, to ensure they were not separated. Reaching another hatch, they opened it and entered another corridor, this one more peaceful. They continued along it for a good while, wanting to put more space between themselves and that plasma fire. Eventually they just stopped, and huddled up along the bulkhead.

"We should be safe, now," Talia said. She seemed to be trying to reassure herself, as much as Lyta. The words had barely left her mouth before the ship heaved again. The bulkhead near the end of the corridor, just in front of the hatch through which they had entered, seemed to blister inwards, glowing a bright red. For a split second they caught the faintest trace of a green beam, much diffused, punching through to impact the far wall. Once again the heat in the corridor skyrocketed. This time, however, it was coupled with the shrill whistling of air being sucked out into vacuum.

Lyta bolted upright. "We have to get out of this corridor before air pressure makes these hatches impossible to open." Talia had no idea what she was talking about, but getting away seemed like a good idea. Picking a hatch at random, Lyta pushed it open and dove through, slamming it after them.

They found themselves in a large room containing a group of fully spacesuited individuals, seated before various computer consoles. A number of displays showed the exterior of the ship. The view was horrific. Bits and pieces of destroyed vessels drifted everywhere. The exterior of the Nova burned in a dozen places, just in the little bit they could see in the displays. To one side of the room, an actual window looked out into space, the Minbari ship visible in the distance. The view traced along the length of a giant cannon, which fired as they entered.

"Another miss."

Someone else swore, then said, "Try adjusting two degrees up and to the right. Fire as soon as it's recharged." He noticed them. "You two! What the hell are you doing here? Why aren't you suited up?"  
"The…" Lyta stopped and took a breath. "The corridor was hit, exposed to vacuum. We went through the first hatch we could find, before the air go too thin."

He swore again, then pointed to a corner. "All right, you'll have to stay. Just keep out of the way."

They both dutifully went to the indicated corner, and he returned to his displays, preparing for the next shot.

"Power's getting spotty, Lieutenant," they heard someone say.

"Just fire when it's recharged. We've lost almost half our forward guns. The power draw shouldn't be too great, given what's left."

As Lyta and Talia watched, half of a Starfury seemed to tumble out of space and smack into one of the displays. That screen dissolved to static. Talia grabbed Lyta's hand. "Jason is out in that. He could be hurt. He could be dead. I have to know. Susan's out there to."

"We can't bother these people. They're busy trying to keep us all alive."

"We...we could search ourselves...telepathically."

"It's to far."

"Not if we work together, combine our strength. You're better at this than I am, Lyta. I need your help."

Lyta studied her friend. Talia was weeping, nearly hysterical. The tears formed large puddles under her eyes and along the bridge of her nose, held in place by surface tension in the zero-G environment. She sighed. She had no desire to reach her mind out into that abattoir, but her friend needed her. "Alright," she said gripping her hand tightly.

They expanded their minds, reaching out into the void they could see just beyond the window, searching for the minds of the people they loved. Searching… Searching… What the hell was _that_?

Lyta's eyes widened in understanding. Her eyes darted to the targeting display around which the spacers were hovering. If she understood it correctly… "They're going to miss again," she whispered.

"Firing...miss," she heard a voice say.

"Frag it! Recharge."

Lyta leaped to her feet and, still holding tightly to Talia's hand, dragged the woman across the deck. She jabbed her finger at the targeting display. "Here. You have to fire here."

The Lieutenant rounded on her, shouting, "Lady, get back to that God damned corner, before I throw you out into the corridor."

"You're going to miss again. The Minbari are there. You have to aim there."  
"And what are you supposed to be, some kind of fortune teller? Or maybe you've got a Ph.D. in bullshit. What you _aren't_ is anywhere in my chain of command, so sit your ass down."

"Telepath. I'm a telepath."

"Great. Then you know what I'm thinking."

She took that as an invitation, looking into his mind. He really was thinking about throwing them out into the corridor, which might very well be vacuum by now. How could she get him to listen? Looking deeper, she sunk past his conscious thoughts, almost doing a deep scan. His subconscious was filled with thoughts of impending death, driven by his atavistic terror. But, just beyond that was a hint of… she blushed furiously. "I'll have dinner with you."

"Excuse me?"

"Just humor me, and I'll have dinner with you. Look, you've missed every single shot. How could trying my coordinates hurt?"

He studied her for a few seconds, then said, "Johnson, place the next shot here." He tapped the screen.

"No, here now," she said, moving his finger. "They're in motion. You'll have to let me give you the location just when you're ready to shoot."

"Cannon recharged," came the call.

The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows at her. She drug his finger to a new point on the display. "These coordinates," he ordered. "Fire."

"Hit!" came an ecstatic shout. All eyes swivelled to Lyta, some stunned, others bearing an almost painful hopefulness.

"Lady," the Lieutenant said cautiously, "can you do that again?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I think so."

"Well, hot damn. Mbuta, get on the horn with the bridge. Tell them we can track the, Minbari."

"Just dinner," Lyta said quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"I only agreed to dinner. I wasn't promising anything else."

He chuckled. "Lady, if you can get us out of this alive, then feel free to consider us even." He hesitated. "Though I'd still love to take you to dinner."  
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The ship lurched violently. "We are hit, Hiai'sa. Significant damage to deck twelve."

Manier nodded. Things had been going so perfectly. "Well, I suppose they were bound to get lucky sooner or later. Recall the remaining fighters. We are leaving. We've already crippled them. Easy pickings when our fleet arrives. Increase the range and switch to defensive fire."

"Si dromo, Hiai'sa."

Manier cursed silently. He had really wanted to be the one to destroy Starkiller, but he wasn't going to risk losing his ship. This battle was a victory. Time to be going.  
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Cheers erupted on the bridge of the Nova as they finally got a hit.

"Which gun was that?" Sheridan asked. At the rate things were going, they were still likely to lose unless something significant changed soon, but at least it was something.

"Turret 4, Captain," Takashima said.

"File a commendation for every member of the gun crew."

"Aye, Captain." A light flashed on her console, and she hit a button, then held her hand up to her earpiece. "Captain, Turret 4 is asking that we fire link the rest of the guns to them. They say they can track the Minbari."

"Do we have a targetting lock on the Minbari ship?" he asked excitedly.

"No, Captain. Their stealth fields remain fully operational. The gun crew must be overly excited by their hit. They must think they've stumbled on some secret technique. Who can blame them? I recommend against chaining all of our guns to a single firing solution. It will significantly reduce our chances of achieving further hits."

Sheridan agreed, but then hesitated. Could he afford not to follow up on all possibilities? "Laurel…" he said hesitantly. "Ask them _why_ they think they can track the Minbari.

She bent to her task, then turned back to him with a confused look on her face. "Captain, they say...they say they have telepaths down there. No further explanation."

Sheridan's eyes widened. "Link all guns to whatever firing solution Turret 4 plugs in. I want every gun we've got left to fire together. Let's hit them with everything we've got."

Takashima was obviously still confused but she didn't question the order. "Guns ready. Firing." On the screen, the seven guns still operational in their forward arc spoke as one. The salvo reached out and slammed into the Minbari ship, caving in a large area of the forward hull. Flames gouted from the breach, and the ship fell into a tumble. Wild cheers erupted on the bridge.

"Captain, we've got a problem," Takashima said softly. "That last shot burned out the power runs to all of our cannon. I'm afraid we're out of the fight, until repairs can be initiated. The Minbari have lost their stealth field, however. The Lexington is targeting."

Sheridan glanced back at the screen. The Lexington had sailed into view, firing everything it had into the now silent hulk. The heavy cruiser was heavily damaged, and burning in a number of locations, but had received a lot less attention from the Minbari than the Nova had. "Looks like you get this kill, Liz," he murmured to himself. A moment later, the continuing weapons fire hit something critical, and the Minbari vessel detonated.  
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"Firing," Susan shouted. Her pulse cannon blazed, and the final Minbari fighter dissolved before her. She couldn't believe it. She'd taken out one of those invincible Nials.

After Ironheart had reforged the Delta squadrons, they had given chase to the remaining Nials. But, Black Omega had the situation well in hand. They had shattered the Minbari formation, and Commander Bester had wracked up another kill. He had been so busy chasing that one down, that he had failed to notice another Nial lining up to take him out. Susan and Ironheart had vectored in. Ironheart's shots had missed, giving Susan the chance for her first victory against the Minbari.

She looked around the now quiet battlefield. The fleet was in complete disarray, and both the Nova and the Lexington looked ready for the scrapyard. How the hell were they going to recover from this?

Commander Sinclair's voice crackled over the channel for the entire fighter group. "Good job people. It may not look it, but you did very well. By now, you should all have figured out that we have a secret weapon. We're able to pierce Minbari stealth using telepathy. Expect that in the days and weeks to come, we will be working to expand upon this advantage. Our loss rate in this engagement was less than three to one. I believe that's a record. Congratulations in particular to Wise Ass. She's the only pilot _not_ in a telepath pairing who managed to get a kill today.

"I know you're exhausted, and I'd love to send you all back to the barn, but we've got missing. Some of your brothers and sisters managed to eject. There are civilians as well who were forced to abandon ship. We're bringing in shuttles for the rescue. You need to help with the search. Get it done people. Come hell or high water, the fleet is leaving this system in no more than four hours. CAG out."  
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 **Deep Hyperspace, Vorlon Empire - December, 2248**

The Vorlon known to the younger races as Ambassador Kosh had once again been summoned to address the leaders of his people. He stepped again into the primary consultation chamber of this massive dreadnought. Kosh eyed the thirteen Vorlons who had summoned him.  
He bowed respectfully to the council, a gesture they did not return. He felt their anger and worry in the air. Their minds expanded and merged, and the discussion began.

 _Disaster_! Their thought entered his mind. It carried with it all the connotations of a great work, torn asunder. It was rolled in with visions of a planet Earth shrouded in smoke from orbital bombardment. Of a tiny remnant, chased out into space, harried and beaten. Of the inevitable end of everything they had worked and planned for. Most of all, it carried their blame, that they could have stopped it, but had not, at his suggestion.  
 _  
No_. A simple thought, but laced with it was the certain knowledge of the data he had been tracking. Of the readings the temporal sensors unequivocally showed. _The Circle remains, intact._

He felt their astonishment. He himself was astonished. It seemed impossible, but the science did not lie. _How_? They queried.  
 _  
Unknown_. He sent the thought with the assurance that he was looking into it. Managing the problem.

 _There is no threat_?

Kosh hesitated. This was the critical moment. There was a turning point, rapidly approaching, which could derail everything. It would need to be dealt with. But he couldn't afford to panic the council, lest they do something foolish. _There is a danger_ , he finally sent.  
 _  
Explain_.

He sent them a vision. A place where the fleet would find rest and succor. Where they would pause for a time. Where they might be trapped and killed. Where the Circle might die.

 _Intervention_? A victory. At the start of the meeting they would have demanded it. His reassurance that the Circle still held had regained him some of their trust.

 _Yes. And no_. His sending came wrapped up with a need for caution, for not overreacting. Subtlety.  
 _  
How_?  
 _  
We have the tools we need_. He sent them a vision of what was needed, and felt their surprise. Then their appreciation at the appropriateness of his suggestion. Finally, he felt their mirth. Vorlons do not laugh, but if they did, the chamber would have echoed with their howls.  
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 **Shambah, Drazi Space - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248**

The jump gate activated, and began to disgorge ships. It was a broken fleet which emerged into Shambah. Their standard practice of scanning the system first had been skipped, as had using their jump engines to enter the system far out into the outskirts of the system. The fleet had needed to get out of hyperspace as quickly as possible. Many ships were still struggling with damage. Some were under tow. The Nova, the first ship to enter the system, still had at least one electrical fire smoldering.

Sheridan was unsurprised to see a trio of Drazi Sun-Hawk cruisers awaiting them. The Nova had come through first in the hopes of intimidating any potential opposition, but it's only functional armament was a single energy mine, and a battered squadron of Starfuries. The Lexington, with their only effective anti ship armaments, was still in hyperspace, bringing up the rear of the fleet. "Open a comm channel," he ordered quietly.

Almost immediately his screen lit up with the image of a pair of Drazi. A pair of very nervous looking Drazi. _Here we go again_ , he thought. "Greetings. I am Captain John Sheridan of the Earth Alliance," he said, with a confidence belied by his battered ship. "Our fleet contains a great number of civilians, and I am responsible for their safety. I ask only that you allow us passage through your territory."

The Drazi shared a look. Yes, they were clearly very nervous. One of them spoke. "I am Ambassador Vizak. You may of course transit our territory, with our blessing. However, might I offer another suggestion?"

Sheridan almost sagged with relief when they gave permission for passage, but the offer of a different suggestion roused his concerns again. _Here it comes_ , he thought. He expected they would demand a steep price. Or perhaps insist they would head in a specific direction, probably into Centauri space. He didn't allow those concerns to touch his face. "And that would be?"

"Come with us to Zhabar. We offer shelter and aid."

"Shelter?" he asked, startled.

"Yes. Welcome, Captain Sheridan. Welcome to the Drazi Freehold."


	10. Chapter 9 - Refuge

Chapter 9 - Refuge  
 **  
Zahbar, Drazi Homeworld - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248**

A pair of tugs, one human and one Drazi, dragged the EAS Nova through the jumpgate and into the Drazi home system. It was the final ship of the fleet to arrive. They had finally managed to put out all of the plasma and electrical fires, but only by completely shutting down the main reactors. Losing your engines in hyperspace was never a good thing, but fortunately they had plenty of tugs in the fleet. Still, the Nova was far from the only ship needing to be towed, and the Drazi had once again stepped up, bringing in tugs of their own to aid in the transit.

Standing on a nearly empty bridge, John Sheridan kept an eye on the entire operation. There was little that could actually be done from the bridge. Nearly every one of the ship's systems had been damaged. His people had been working nearly around the clock on repairs. Here, near the end of this leg of their journey, he had insisted they all take some time to rest, eat, and perhaps watch their entry into the system.

Next to him, Ambassador Vizak stood in companionable silence. As the Nova was pulled towards Zahbar itself, Sheridan noted a surprising amount of activity in the orbitals. "There's a lot going on out there," he noted to his guest.

"Yes. By now, repairs should be well under way."

"Repairs?" Sheridan asked in surprise.

"Yes. We will repair your fleet. Every single ship possible. Some of your smaller shuttles and transports may take too long to repair, or even need to be scrapped. In these cases, we will swap the vessel with one of our own."

"That's...very generous of you. We have significant Quantium 40 stocks...again," he said, with some irony. _We stole from the Minbari only to have to pay off the Drazi. Where will we get our next payment from_? "I presume you would like them in payment?"

"No."

"Something else then?"

"Yes. Please understand, Captain, that we will aid you regardless, but we do want just one thing from you."

"And that would be?"

"Information. Specifically, information on our fleet."

"I'm sorry, Ambassador, I don't understand," Sheridan said honestly. "What could I tell you about your forces that you don't already know?"

"No, I meant a specific fleet. The ships we sent to Earth. We would like to know how they fared."

"Again, I'm sorry Ambassador, but I still don't know what you are talking about. Do you mean one of your trading caravans, from before the war?"

The Drazi seemed to grow agitated. "Captain, we sent a fleet of a thousand warships, under our most decorated Admiral, to stand with you at your Battle of the Line! Are you telling me they never arrived? What happened to them?"

Sheridan stared at the Ambassador in shock for several moments. "A _thousand_ ships? No, I'm sorry, Ambassador, they never arrived. We thought we were all alone. We thought we had been abandoned by every other race."

"You had been. All of the races are terrified of the Minbari, Captain. Now you understand why. We could not bring ourselves to enter the war, to our everlasting shame. Despite all we owed you, we were too afraid to intervene. We remember the Dilgar, Captain. We remember our debts. Why do you think we are helping you now? No, we were terrified. The war was nearly over before General Trkarda, the greatest of our officers, shamed us into finally acting. He gathered the strongest fleet we had ever fielded, save only the very mightiest during the Dilgar war, and headed for your territory. I know the Vree also assembled a relief fleet of several hundred ships. I have heard no further news on their efforts, though clearly they never arrived either. But what could have happened to two such powerful fleets?"

"My initial inclination would be to assume they were caught by the Minbari, but that doesn't seem to fit."

"And why not?"

"Our experience with the Minbari would indicate that they don't forgive attack. If they had fought such a powerful fleet of your ships, I would assume they would already be at war with you, assaulting your space."

"We would call up the mutual defense clause of the League. Bring every member into the war."

"Would they come to your aid? They didn't come to ours," Sheridan said, trying not to be bitter.

"Perhaps not, though I would like to think the League has learned its lesson from the Dilgar. Our reluctance to support each other allowed them to nearly exterminate us all separately. They might have succeeded, if not for the intervention of your people. Still, the Minbari are terrifying indeed."

"A more relevant question might be if the Minbari would fear even the combined might of the League. As you said, you didn't do so well against the Dilgar, who were a much smaller threat."

The Drazi sighed. "You are of course correct, Captain. Though I think the Minbari would be surprised if it came to that. Some of our members are quite advanced. The Abbai, the Vree, the Hyach. If the Yolu actually managed to motivate themselves, they alone might prove a formidable opponent for the Minbari. However...I doubt the Minbari would see it that way."

"Which leads us back to the fact that, if the Minbari had fought your fleet, they would be here attacking your people. I'm sorry, Ambassador. I have no idea what happened to your fleet. All I can say is thank you, for sending it in the first place. I am also honor bound to advise you that your are probably putting your people in danger by helping us."

Vizak sighed again. "I am aware. As are my people. Which is why I have to tell you that you cannot stay. We will repair your ships. We will resupply your fuel and food stores, and then we must send you on your way. I am sorry that we cannot do more."

"It is more than enough, Ambassador Vizak. Thank you."

"Just Vizak, please. It will take some time to repair all of your vessels. Our technologies are not always compatible, so it is good that you brought many spare parts. This warship in particular has extensive damage to the hull and armor. We use a type of depth hardened steel for our own vessels. I do not know how it compares to your own armor, but it can be injection molded into the rips, tears, and holes in your vessel, much as you would patch a wall or a road. Hopefully this will be sufficient."

"More than sufficient, Vizak. And please, call me John."

The Drazi smiled. "In the meantime, your people have the same freedom of movement as any citizen of the Freehold. Visit any of our cities or civilian space stations. We can make arrangements for some of your officers to visit our military ships and space stations, if you would like. I argued for my government to provide all of your people with a small stipend while you are here, but this they refused. So if your people wish to purchase anything, they will need to bring trade goods. I'm afraid Earth Alliance currency no longer has any value. My apologies."

"Please, don't apologise. You've been more than generous. And we do have some trade goods we can provide to our citizens. They'll be happy to spend some time standing on real ground, breathing real air. Thank you."

"As for calling you John...actually, would you mind if I called you Starkiller?"  
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 **  
Jux Prime, Centauri Space - The Grey Sharlin - December, 2248**

A trio of Sharlin warcruisers made a stately entry through the jumpgate and into Centauri space. Delenn, watching the proceedings via the massive holographic display in the meeting chamber of the Grey Council, was unsurprised to see the three Primus class battlecruisers waiting to meet them. Their scouts had informed them of the presence of the Centauri task force. It was why they had chosen to come with precisely three vessels. It set up a nominal level of equality. The warriors had assured her, however, that even a single Sharlin should easily deal with all three of the Centauri vessels. As though she were concerned that the _Centauri_ might start a fight.

"Satais," Shai Alyt Branmer noted, "their gunports are open, their weapons uncharged.

"Well," Coplann said in surprise, "how interesting. It would seem we may have run into someone civilized out here. What a novel experience." Delenn found herself quite annoyed at teh statement, though she wasn't entirely certain why.

A religious caste acolyte, who had been directing the sensors, approached and bowed. "Satais, we have received a message from the Centauri Ambassador. He would like to request a meeting in person, and requests you choose the location; his vessel, ours, or a neutral point in between."

"Proper deference as well," Coplann said. "Better and better. I suggest we bring this ambassador aboard. Allow him to see the true might of those with whom he would parley." Uncertain as to what this Centauri behavior would portend, Delenn merely gave a shallow bow in acknowledgement.

Less than half an hour later, the Centauri Ambassador was ushered into the Council chamber. The Council had been called into formal session for the meeting with the Ambassador. The Nine stood in their circle, each illuminated by a beam of light from above, with their hoods drawn up. The hall was otherwise completely dark, save for the pool of light that sprang up around the Centauri, as he stepped to the center of the circle. The ornate and colorful finery of his garments was in stark contrast to the simple grey robes of the Councillors. However, regardless of its gaudiness, it was clearly a military uniform, including military decorations and a short sword sheathed at the waist. Delenn noted each of the Warrior Caste council members wearing approving looks as they examined the Centauri.

The Centauri examined them in return, then pulled himself up to his full height and raised his chin high. "My name is Londo Mollari. I was recently the Centauri Ambassador to the Earth Alliance. Today I have been tasked with representing my people to you. On behalf of my people, my Emperor, and my Republic; I wish to welcome you to Centauri space. Friends, the Centauri Republic greets you with peace and hospitality."

Coplann stepped forward and lowered his hood to meet the Ambassador's eyes. "Your words do you credit, Centauri. The Minbari have long thought of your people as aggressive, avaricious, and hedonistic barbarians. It may be time that we reexamine those beliefs. However, we have not come for you peace or your hospitality. We require access to your space. We are on a mission."

"Yes," Mollari said, drawing out the word as though tasting it. "I am well aware of your mission." His words caught Delenn by surprise, but she allowed not a ripple to mar the still surface of her robes. A few of the others were not so controlled, and she heard murmuring sweep around the ring of the Nine. However, the Ambassador continued, "You are hunting humans. A fleet of humans, fleeing from the destruction you have wrought upon their Earth Alliance. Tsk tsk tsk. Such a messy matter. But I am afraid you will not get what you came for."

Coplann's eyes tightened in anger. "You would deny us, Centuari? If you know so much about why we are here, then you know what the humans did to us. You know why we must finish this. Would you protect them? Or is it your plan to insist that they were never here?"

"My name, sir, is Mollari, not Centauri. They sound somewhat alike, so I understand your confusion. And yes, I do understand the mission you are on. I will not lie, I spent a great deal of time with the humans, I liked them as a species. I liked many of them as individuals. But what they did to you was unacceptable. A powerful race, a senior race like the Minbari or the Centauri, cannot allow that type of behavior. If the humans had killed our Emperor during first contact, when we approached them in respectful greeting, our response would have been much the same as yours. Ohh," he drawled again, "we would likely have enslaved them rather than wiping them out. It is our way; more efficient, less wasteful. But that is simply a matter of preference. If you choose to wipe out the humans, or simply grind them back into their stone age, so that in a few thousand years they can try again to return to space, hopefully with more _humility_ , that is of course your own decision. I do not fault you for it, nor should anyone.

"Would it surprise you to learn that the humans consulted me before sending their foolish expedition into your space? I tried to warn them. I told them they were being arrogant and stupid, that the Minbari were not to be trifled with. They chose not to listen. The arrogant never do. They have reaped what they have sewn, yes? I may pity them, but that is all I will give them."

Coplann seemed surprised. "Then you will let us pass in our hunt?" he asked with genuine curiosity. "You said we were wasting our time. Or did you mean they were never here."

"Oh, no, they were most definitely here. The Minbari who escorted me in, is she listening?" Coplann blinked at the apparent non sequitur. However, Mollari was now peering around, trying to see into the darkness. "You out there. You said that a video could be played in this room. The data crystal I gave you, you have found the video on it? Now would be the time, yes?"

He continued to peer around expectantly. The Nine shuffled in agitation. What bizarre behavior! However, suddenly the darkened expanse of the ceiling was replaced by an enormous holographic image. It showed, the human fleet, spilling into this very system.

"Oh my, very nice. How very nice indeed," Mollari said, looking at the giant holographic display in surprise. "Yes, I really must get one of these for my Emperor." Delenn and the rest of the Nine ignored him as, one by one, they lowered their hoods to get a better look at the images.

The human fleet was met by the Centauri warships which now sat facing the Minbari. And then a conversation was opened between Mollari and...Starkiller. It was Starkiller himself. John Sheridan. It was the man who had been captured after the death of Lenonn. The man she had then released. The man who had subsequently been responsible for the deaths of thousands upon thousands of her people. More blood on her hands. More weight upon her shoulder. She shuddered, at the display, but forced herself to watch.

Starkiller asked for the right of passage. Then he argued for it. He attempted to bargain for it. Finally, he begged for it. _Starkiller begged_. And he was refused...by this man, this Centauri. The human fleet turned around and withdrew, refused entry into Centauri space.

As the display ended, Mollari looked around at the now uncovered faces of each of the Nine, then said, "The data crystal I gave to whoever it was that showed me in, it contains this video as well as all of the sensor readings we took on the human fleet. It also contains video and logs from the scout ships we sent to trail the humans back to ensure they left. They returned to Narn space. I would not be surprised if the Narn were sheltering them. The Centauri, we keep our eyes and ears open. We have heard that you may have had a bit of...unpleasantness...on the Narn border, yes? Do not blame yourselves. The Narn are children, playing games. I believe my people have been telling yours this for generations. Many of the so called League of Non Aligned Worlds are much the same. Expect similar reactions to the Narn's. They will view you with suspicion and hostility. They may play similar games, or give shelter to the humans. They are certainly unlikely to welcome you as the Centauri do. They are _all_ children, in need of discipline."

Delenn looked around the circle. Mollari's words, and the video itself, seemed to have pleased many of them greatly. His words seemed to absolve many of them of the doubts and responsibilities they had been feeling. He said the Centauri would have done the same. He said those who opposed them were fools, deserving of what they go. His silver tongue had endeared him to many of them. Delenn knew exactly what he was doing, but was he wrong?

Coplann cleared his throat, though he was clearly struggling to suppress a smile. "Yes, that is all very good Ambassador Mollari. We thank you for the information. I suppose you would like us to turn around now. But how can we…?"

"Trust me?" Mollari asked, smiling. "How can you know that I have not faked this whole thing? Surely your science is advanced enough that it would detect such a forgery. I would have to be a fool to take such a risk. But you have made one mistake, my friend."

"Oh? And that would be?"

"That I want you to turn around. I most assuredly do not. I said that the Centauri Republic extends its hospitality to you, and I meant it. Come as friends. Feel free to stop at our worlds, to look around our systems. So long as you come in friendship, you will be welcomed as such. I merely wished to forewarn you that looking through our territory for the humans would be a waste of time. I could not, in good conscience, invite you in under the false pretext of finding the humans. But now that I have shared the truth with you, if you wish to look anyway then you are more than welcome to do so. Search our systems. Perhaps stop in at some of our worlds for a meal, a bit of rest and relaxation, perhaps even a bit of shopping."

Delenn finally spoke up. "You wish to establish trade, how clever."

"Indeed. Beyond that, I wish for the Centauri and the Minbari to be friends, perhaps allies. I wish to see the Centauri Embassy on Minbar reopened. Our contact has been limited for too long."

"We will not sell you weapons." Delenn assured him. "We will not support the growth of your Empire, or wars on other species."

"My Dear Lady, did I ask you to? I may have ambitions for the future relations of our two peoples, but for now, I merely want a bit of trade. I wish to sell the Minbari Roopo Balls and Snicks and Brivari, and perhaps to purchase and taste your foodstuffs in return. I have found that friendships develop better over a good meal than in analyzing weaponry. If military transactions eventually arise...well, that is a matter for the future. Oh, and the Centauri are a republic, not an empire."

"But what is your purpose, Ambassador?" Delenn persisted.

"My purpose is order, Dear Lady. Order. A trait this galaxy is sorely lacking. The humans, the Dilgar, the Narn, the Drazi, most of these races breed only chaos. They are children, blundering about. They have caused little but chaos in the last century. And it is our fault, the Minbari's and the Centauri's, and it is for us to fix."

"Excuse me?" one of the other Councillors asked in surprise. Delenn did not see which one.

"A century ago the Centauri stood like a lion over this part of the galaxy, imposing order. Giving direction to the less advanced species. Centuries before us it was you Minbari who did the same. But we both made the same mistake. We withdrew, leaving the galaxy to its own devices. If we had been paying more attention, things like the Dilgar genocide or the human assault on your people would never have happened. You ask my purpose? Eventually I would like the Centauri and Minbari to stand together, two of the oldest and most powerful races, and provide order and leadership for this galaxy. But, for right now, I just want to invite you in and sell you some spoo."

Coplann took a step forward. "Well said, my friend." Delenn's head whipped toward him in astonishment. "We believe you, but we will indeed take you up on your hospitality. The humans are sneaky. You never know when they might try to slip past your borders. We will send a few ships to keep watch, and to sample your spoo. And perhaps you are correct. In time we may very well reopen the Centauri embassy on Minbari. First, though, we must finish this war."

"Just like that?" Delenn asked in shock. "You would accept his proposals and change our longstanding policies so quickly?"

Coplann looked at her. "Yes, well I suppose we will need to vote on it, Delenn. But, how could we not? Is this not exactly what you have been telling us? That Order must fight Chaos. That we need allies? That we will need to lead the younger races against the challenges ahead. Zhu San, Delenn? You should be joyful that the universe has seen fit to give you what you want!"

Delenn glanced over at the Centauri, who was studiously ignoring the byplay, apparently engrossed in studying his own fingernails. She sighed. "Perhaps you are correct." Turning to the Centauri, she said, "Ambassador Mollari, I wish to thank you for your time and gift of information. We must take our leave of your space now. We have much to discuss. You have made excellent arguments. Do not be surprised if we return to sample your hospitality. And perhaps you will have the opportunity to trade for Pil'sha and Zassa fruit. Perhaps we can indeed be friends, and prevent Chaos from swallowing the galaxy."  
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Over the course of the next few hours, Mollari had left the ship, and the Minbari had left the system. The Grey Council met again, and approved interaction and a limited increase in trade with the Centauri. Delenn stood at a window in a mostly deserted corridor, staring out at hyperspace. For some reason she could not understand, the entire interaction with Mollari had filled her with dread.

"There you are, Delenn." She turned to see Shai'Alyt Branmer striding towards her, with Coplann just behind him. "We just received word, Delenn. We lost another ship. One of our pickets moving through Narn space came across the wreckage of one of our heavy scouts, the Temshwee under the command of Hiai'sa Manier. It was near the wreckage of many human Worker vessels, including some of their largest ships."

"Clearly," Coplann said, "Starkiller launched another one of his ambushes. The Temshwee was caught in it, but faught back fiercely, doing significant damage before it was overcome."

"That is speculation," Branmer cautioned. "We do not know exactly what events transpired."

"What else could it have been? You know our ships are untouchable by the humans, barring such dishonorable tactics. Regardless, Delenn, it's location was on the Narn-Drazi border. The trail of debris and radiation leaves no room for doubt. The humans entered Drazi space. However, our envoys to the Drazi have been rebuffed. They refuse us passage, and insist the humans aren't there. It is just as Mollari said. They are children, playing games. And they have clearly chosen to stand with the humans. They are likely helping to repair the human vessels."

"We will not go to war with the Drazi," Delenn cautioned sharply. "They have shown us no violence. You agreed, Coplann, that we would not attack races who support the humans. It is honorable of them, given the aid the humans gave them against the Dilgar."

"Yes, Delenn, I remember. And you agreed that we would do whatever was necessary to overtake and destroy the humans; that we would not let anything stand in our way. If you have a suggestion for resolving this dilemma, then I would be happy to hear it."

Delenn almost gave a sharp retort, but thought better of it. Instead, she took a deep breath, and then took a few moments to really think about the situation. "If the human ships are damaged as badly as you say, then they are unlikely to be leaving Drazi space anytime soon. Is that correct?"

"Most likely," Branmer answered.

"And repairing the level of damage your are describing….that work would most easily be carried out around the Drazi homeworld, correct?"

"Yes, most likely," Branmer agreed again.

Delenn sighed. "Then we gather a fleet. One large and powerful enough that the Drazi cannot ignore it, that they would be foolish to try to stop. We do not attack, but instead cross over their border and head for their homeworld, where we will put an end to the human fleet. Self preservation should prevent the Drazi from trying to stop us. If they do attack, then we will have the forces to deal with them. Hopefully, though, the show of force will help them to see reason, and save their own lives. It's not perfect, but it's the best plan I can think of."

Coplann pursed his lips in thought, but then gave a quick nod. Branmer said, "It's a good plan, Delenn. Let us hope that the Drazi see reason."  
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 **  
Zahbar, Drazi Homeworld - Exodus Fleet - December, 2248**

"Come on, see reason," Dr. Franklin chided the Drazi merchant. "You can't possibly expect that much when you can't even tell me what the thing does, much less demonstrate how to operate it."

"When have you ever known a Drazi to be reasonable?" Max Eilerson asked rhetorically. The question elicited a glare from the Drazi.

Stephen pulled the man a few steps away from the Drazi merchant. "We're in a negotiation here. Try not to be so abrasive. Now, what exactly is your problem?"

"My problem? My problem is that I should be back on my ship, analyzing that Minbari tech we captured, rather than down here with you on a wild goose chase."

"You'd really pass up a chance to go planet side? After all the time we've been stuck in space? I thought you'd appreciate this chance. Besides, I thought all the Minbari tech was blasted to scrap. I heard that the only useful tech we recovered was samples of their hull armor."

"Yeah, it was. You military types really don't know the meaning of overkill, do you? But I work with the burned out scraps of tech that's been sitting for thousands or even tens of thousands of years. I'll make do. And when I crack something valuable, like their stealth maybe, then hopefully I'll finally see some appreciation for my talents. Anyway, why do you want this thing so bad? It's clearly either a joke or a scam."

"I want it because we were supposed to review the Drazi wares for any useful medicines or technologies, and after visiting a dozen different markets, this is the only thing that has even come close. And that's only because I have no idea what it does! And what do you mean, it's either a joke or a scam?"

"I mean it's not real. I partially deciphered the markings on the device while you were haggling."

"What, already? Shouldn't that take years?"

"Well, if I was just some random doctor, I suppose it _would_ take years, but this is my job, Doctor," he said caustically. "And it's only a rough, partial translation. The thing claims to be a "life-force transfer device" for use in corporal punishment. And it's obviously a hoax, because the laws of physics which I'm familiar with don't allow for any such thing. So unless you happen to be friends with Merlin or Harry Potter, I suggest you let this go. Or do your rules of medicine obey a different set of physical laws?"

"No….that kind of thing _should_ be impossible. But then again, so should telepathy and telekinesis. And this thing is _still_ the only interesting thing we've found. And it's clearly not Drazi in origin."

"Clearly. And that matters why, exactly?"

Rather than answering, Stephen returned to the Drazi merchant. "My friend thinks your device is a fraud. I'm inclined to agree. However, since I'm feeling generous, I'm willing to offer you a hundred kilos of Earth coffee. It may be the last chance you ever have to acquire the stuff."

"Human food stuffs do not interest me. I have seen humans trading with industrial gemstones. I would trade the device for one hundred carats of sapphires."

Franklin laughed at him. "I was willing to be nice because the thing looked interesting. I thought it might make a nice wall decoration. But I'm not going to stand here and be insulted. Come on, Max." Franklin started to walk away quickly, Eilerson in tow.

As expected, the Drazi merchant quickly called out to them. "Wait. I misspoke. I meant to say fifty carats."

Stephen turned back. I'll give you thirty, or you can have the coffee. Otherwise, I walk."

The Drazi merchant put on a show of reluctance, but quickly agreed to the deal. Shortly, Stephen and Max were leaving with the strange alien device.

"You got robbed, you know," Max said. "He would have gone down to ten carats."

"It would have been more helpful if you had told me that five minutes ago," Stephen said with exasperation. Then he saw Tessa. She was about fifty meters ahead on the crowded street. She was running, in the company of a Zack Allan and a trio of armed Drazi. Sensing trouble, Stephen thrust the device into Eilerson's arms and said, "Get this back to the ship." Then he took off at a run.

Max shouted after him, "I'm not your pack mule," but Franklin was already far enough away to ignore the man. He chased Tessa and her companions, but in the crowded streets he nearly lost them several times. He almost gave up completely, but caught a flash of blonde hair flying down a narrow alley way. Resuming the chase, he finally caught up to them in a small enclosed courtyard at the end of the alley. It was dark and grimy and filled with refuse, but Stephen's eyes were immediately drawn to the pair of bodies which had been nailed to the wall, posed as though hanging from a cross. Blood sheeted down their faces from the neat drill holes into their foreheads. On blind instinct Stephen pulled out his medical scanner.

Tessa noticed him. "Stephen, you shouldn't be here."

Zack grimaced. "Do you always bring your boyfriend on murder investigations, Holloran?"

Stephen strode forward past the man, practically bowling him over. "It's not a murder yet. They're still alive. Help me get them down!"  
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Susan Ivanova woke in her bunk aboard the Nova. Rolling over, she checked the wall chrono. _I must still be catching up on all that lost sleep_ , she thought. _A full eight hours and I still feel half asleep_. Well, she didn't need to be anywhere for an hour yet. Patrols had been almost entirely halted, so as to minimize the possibility of an incident with Drazi forces. She could actually catch a bit more shuteye.

Rolling back into her bunk, she felt something dig into her back. _That's weird. I don't remember leaving anything here_. Groping under her sheet, she felt something round and metallic, cool to the touch. Curious, she pulled it out and looked at it. It was a military grade demolition charge.

Eyes widening, heart rate accelerating, she leaped out of bed and tore away the sheet. The action sent several more demolition charges spinning across the room, tumbling gracefully in the zero-G environment. Horrified, she began to scoop them out of the air, until something else caught her eye. Something had been written on her now drifting sheet in giant red letters.

Snatching back the sheet, she spent several moments trying to spread it out so she could read what had been written. Her movements were made awkward by the trio of explosive devices she still held, but she finally managed to open is sufficiently, spreading out the corners as best she could with her hands and right foot. The letters were meant to look like they had been written in blood, but she saw with relief that it was just paint. She saw to her increasing horror that it was just one word... _TRAITOR_.

Behind her, she heard the hatch open and Lyta and Talia wander in, chatting amiably about something inconsequential. Susan froze, slowly turning her head. As soon as they saw her, the room went silent and deathly still. Finally, Lyta turned to Talia and said, "Close the hatch." Moving farther into the room while Talia complied, she asked, "Susan, what's happening?"

Slowly, Susan gathered up the remaining explosives, then wrapped them all in the sheet. Finally, she sat back on her bunk and turned a pallid face to her two friends. "I think...I think someone is trying to frame me. It's not the first time either." Haltingly, she began to explain to them about the events leading up to the explosion of the King Solomon's mines. How she had awoken in a hazardous environment suit, which had logged a large dose of radiation, and which had been carrying antiradiation drugs. They looked horrified when she explained about the needle marks in her arm. "I've...I've also been losing time. It's happened a few times. I'll wake up with no memory of how I got there."

"Any needle marks at those times?" Lyta asked.

"No."

"Too bad. It would explain how they are doing it," Talia stated.

"Doing what?"

"Drugging you," Talia said. "It's the only reasonable explanation. It covers the lost time and the clothing changes. _How_ they're doing it is the tricky part. It's gotta be someone with some authority. Probably someone with access to your food and drink. Someone who's not happy about how important telepaths are becoming to the fleet."

"Hold on, Talia," Lyta broke in. "You're making an awful lot of assumptions. We don't know what's been happening to her. We certainly don't know that some telepath hater is orchestrating this. Why would they?"

"Don't be naive, Lyta. Haven't you been paying attention to what's been happening with the fleet? The serial killer just tried to murder two more telepaths _down on Zahbar_. He would have succeeded to, if Dr. Franklin hadn't been nearby. As it is, they'll never have telepathy again, and they can't remember a thing. And that's on top of all the hostility and bigotry we face throughout the fleet! Brotherhood of Man my foot! We're still just as divided and isolated as we were before the war."

"I know all that, but it doesn't mean…" Lyta took a deep breath. "Regardless, there's another assumption you are making. I am too for that matter, but we should probably make sure it really isn't just an assumption." She turned and looked directly at Susan.

Susan recoiled, hurt and strangely ashamed. She quietly whispered, "You think I might have actually done it?"

"No, of course not. But we should be sure. A deep scan will prove your innocence, and maybe help us to figure out who is doing this. It won't be pleasant but…"

" _Absolutely_ not," Talia hissed. "Susan is our friend. She deserves our trust and support, not suspicion and the pain of a deep scan. You know as well as I do that she is incapable of something like this. She's as innocent as I am. And a deep scan won't prove her innocence. Not to the people who count. The normals don't trust us enough. Maybe that will change, but it hasn't yet. A deep scan will keep her out of prison, but it won't save her career. If this get's out, scan or no scan, her piloting days are over. I don't know about you, but I rather like her being out there, protecting us all."

Lyta pressed her lips into a thin line, thinking, then gave a sharp nod. "Alright. So what do we do?"

The words had no more than left her mouth than the sounds of an enormous explosion thundered through the corridors of the ship. Seconds later, the call to battle stations erupted from sirens throughout the ship.

Talia snapped out directions. "Susan, get to your squadron. They'll be waiting for you. Lyta and I will take care of disposing of this fake evidence."

"We can't do that now," Lyta told her. "We need to get to the bridge, remember?" Turning to Susan she smiled briefly and said, "We were going to tell you. Talia and I aren't just here as your tutors anymore. We've been assigned to assist with targeting and tracking. It's just us for now, but I think eventually they plan is to have a team of telepaths assigned to every gun battery. We're in the military now, to! They didn't bother to give us a rank, so I think I'll call myself Admiral Alexander." She chuckled at her own joke, causing Talia to roll her eyes.

She reached out and gripped Susan's arm. "Don't worry. Alexander the Great Big Ego and I are going to help you. We'll get you through this, Susan." They pulled each other into a quick group hug, and then turned and raced from the room.  
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"Long story short, we need to slow down. We can't keep racing ahead like this," Garibaldi advised the group. It had been his job to look into the recent explosion aboard the Nova and advise the Council of Captains, which was meeting aboard the Olympic. For once, the ship didn't feel massively overcrowded. Huge numbers of civilians had decided to take advantage of the Drazi hospitality and had shuttled down to the surface, at least for a few days. It was expensive, but it was a huge boost for morale. It also got them out of the way of all of the repairs which needed to be done; repairs which had been proceeding at a breakneck pace.

"Could you give us a little more than that, Michael?" Sinclair asked with some exasperation.

"Simple really. There are only two possibilities, it was either sabotage or it was an accident. Given the accident on the Midway and the sabotage of the King Solomon's Mines, both seem equally plausible. And both are facilitated by this Godawful rush we're putting our people through."

"So which is it, Michael? Accident or sabotage? You've had twenty-four hours to figure it out. I don't know that we can afford to give any more time."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. It takes time to run a proper investigation. If you cut me off now, if you rush ahead with repairs, we'll probably never know for sure. And frankly, accident or sabotage, this almighty rush is the _reason_ it happened. If it was an accident, it's because we're moving too fast to work safely with all of the proper precautions. If it was sabotage, it was successful because everyone is in such a hurry that no one has the time to notice when something isn't right, when someone is somewhere they're not supposed to be, doing something they shouldn't be doing. We _need_ to slow down."

"We can't," Sheridan cut in. "We can't slow down. We need to be moving full speed ahead, with repairs and everything else. If people get hurt, if this mystery stays unsolved, we'll just have to learn to live with it, because our speed saves a lot more lives than it harms. Michael, the Minbari are coming. I don't know when, but they are coming. Every minute we are still here brings them closer. It puts every human life in jeopardy. Frankly, it also puts every Drazi life in jeopardy. These people have done too much for us, given too much, for us to allow the Minbari to catch them red handed. Who knows what the Minbari would do to them, just for helping us? Our speed may very well mean the survival of two species. No, I'm sorry, Michael. If you are asking us to slow down, my vote will be no."

"I don't know that the choice is yours."

"Yes, yes, the all important vote. So call it already."

"Not what I'm talking about. I trust you John," he said, pointedly looking at Bester, Lochley, and Levitt, "but this may very well be out of our hands. We've got a problem. The civilian repair crews have been calling in sick. As far as we can determine, none of them are actually ill, they're just calling in sick. It sounds like the Blue Flu."

"Excuse me?" asked Lochley.

"My grandmother was a Boston cop, and I remember her telling me about the Blue Flu. They used to use it to get around sanctions on work stoppages."

"In other words," Sinclair interrupted, "we have an illegal strike on our hands."

"These people are scared," Garibaldi resumed. They're just refusing to work under unsafe conditions. They assume we don't care about their well being. And until this is resolved, not much will get done. We can supplement with military damage control personnel and Drazi workers, but it will still slow us down regardless."

"They can't do that," Sheridan said angrily. "Not while we're at war. Not under a state of martial law."

"Then you better be ready to arrest them, and that's going to mean a fight. I'd rather not, but say the word and I'll move in with security forces."

"Now hold on just a minute," Sinclair argued. "Arresting them won't do anything but alienate them more. It certainly won't speed up the repairs, and if they start actively fighting against us, it could well set us back. We should at least try talking to them, finding out what they want. Maybe this can be resolved peacefully."

"We can't afford to give in to a bunch of civilian demands," Sheridan said hesitantly.

"We need to at least try. I'll do it, if no one else wants the task. Come on people. Show a little Christmas spirit."

Sheridan paused. "We _are_ almost there, aren't we? I'd almost stopped thinking about the date." He paused again, thoughtfully. "Alright, I'm willing to let you try, but you need to have troop backup, so that they understand that force is an option. That we cannot tolerate significant delays."

"I'm not sure this is going to work, Commander," Garibaldi interrupted. "This movement, it's one of the few things I've seen uniting the various factions of the fleet. This work stoppage includes Marsies, Earthers, even deep spacers and colonists thrown in. Only the telepaths are missing."

"That's good," Sinclair countered. "Anything that can bring the factions of this fleet together has potential benefits."

"Jeff, my point is that, even if you manage to gain the trust of one of those groups, you are liable to be mistrusted by the others. It's an impossible task."

"I actually have connections to each of those groups, Michael, but I take your point. I'll need some help then. Some folks at a lower level who might not be so mistrusted as anyone in real authority will be." He thought for a moment. "What about that deputy of yours? The one you said...how did you put it...that she wasn't tainted?"

"Tessa Holloran. Yeah, that might be perfect. But she has issues with Earthers. You'll need someone to compliment her. Now that I think of it, she has an Earth friend who might work. One of your pilots. Ivanova something or other."

"Susan Ivanova? She'd be perfect. She's one of the brightest young officers I've ever had the pleasure to work with."

"She also brings the telepath element into your little fleet potpourri," Bester snarked.

Sinclair nodded. "There is that as well. Are there any objections to me trying?" When no one offered any, he continued, "No need for a vote then. Any other business?"

Levitt stood up. "I think it's time we revisited the question of our destination."

"That's already been decided," Sheridan broke in. "We don't need to revisit it. We're headed for the dead space between Orieni and Centauri territories. We just need to pick a path around the Centauri. It increases the distance but doesn't otherwise change anything."

"With all due respect, Captain, I have to disagree. The Centauri have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they won't stand between us and the Minbari. In addition to that, look at the star charts. Orieni space is _much_ closer to Minbari space than Dilgar territory. We'd actually be moving _closer_ to danger."

"Vorlon territory sits between the Minbari and Orieni spaces," Sinclair countered. "No one crosses Vorlon territory. Not even the Minbari."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Lochley broke in. "I've been doing some research. The Drazi were kind enough to open up their starcharts and galactic histories to us. I didn't have time to cover much, but those histories indicate that both the Minbari and Orieni may have significant connections to the Vorlons. John, you may be snuggling us up between Minbari collaborators and Minbari allies, and giving the Minbari a short and direct route to us."

"The fact that you didn't bring those histories would indicate to me that what you've found so far is, in fact, tenuous at best. Is that right?" Lochley hesitated, then gave a nod. "Then this changes nothing. It's an additional danger, but Dilgar territory is still a horrible destination for all of the reasons already discussed."

Levitt spoke up again, "I brought this up because I think things have changed. I'm calling the vote."

Sinclair stood up. "All in favor of continuing with the original plan of going towards the Orieni?" He raised his hand, along with Sheridan and Garibaldi. All three of them looked at Gideon, who shifted, but did not raise his hand. Concerned, Sinclair continued, "All those in favor of heading for Dilgar space?" Levitt, Lochley, and Bester raised their hands. All eyes now turned to Gideon.

He hesitated, then put up his hand. "I'm sorry, Captain. Even ignoring that potential connection between the Orieni and the Minbari, the conversation you had with Ambassador Mollari changes everything. The Centauri won't shield us. They'll probably tell the Minbari exactly where we're at. It's too much of a danger."

"I think that's everything," Sinclair said quietly. "We stand adjourned."

Sheridan stood quietly as first Gideon, then Lochley, Levitt and Bester all left. With a glance, he caught the attention of Garibaldi and Sinclair. Once everyone else had been gone for several moments, he said to them, "This Council of Captains can't go on forever. It's becoming a danger to the fleet. It makes a mockery of the chain of command. Something has to be done."  
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"So now I have yet another thing to do. Tessa, how did you get me into this?" Susan asked as she walked into Tessa's closet sized office aboard the Olympic.

"Me? I thought you were the reason _I_ was drug into this," Tessa responded. "Garibaldi just said that I had been chosen to negotiate the strike, and that you would be working with me on it. He said we would be working directly for Commander Sinclair, so I assumed that's where you came in. Sit."

Susan sat opposite Tessa as the other woman finished up some paperwork. "Commander Sinclair should be here any minute to give us instructions, but it's my understanding we'll be integral to the negotiations."

"So I've heard. Garibaldi's not particularly optimistic about our chances. He's insisting we go in with a security squad for backup. That's not a particularly positive message to send to the strikers. Orders are orders though."

Susan reached into a large pocket on her dress uniform and pulled out a small box wrapped in bright red paper. "While we're waiting, I have something for you. Merry Christmas."

Tessa accepted the package hesitantly. "I didn't realize. I lost track of the date a while ago. I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"I wasn't expecting anything. Besides, I'm Jewish. I was just in one of the Drazi markets, and I saw a particular vendor who gave me a crazy idea, which made me think of you. Open it." Tessa started unwrapping the package carefully, and Susan laughed. "You save wrapping paper? Very Russian of you. I approve."

Tessa snorted, but carefully finished unwrapping the box, then opened it and removed a glass globe that fit neatly in her hand. There was a base on one side to keep it from rolling, and within the globe, on a plain of faded red, sat miniature recreations of the domes of Mars. "It's beautiful."

"Shake it."

"Excuse me?

"Shake it."

Hesitantly, Tessa shook the globe. A flurry of red powder whirled up from the base, filling the globe and partially obscuring the domes. Tessa lowered the globe and looked at Susan in confusion.

"It's a sand globe. You know, like a snow globe?"

"I've never heard of either."

"It simulates a blizzard. Or a sandstorm in this case. Back on Earth, people would give these as gifts during the holiday."

"You celebrate the holy season by giving a gift that simulates an event which inevitably leads to death and destruction? Russians really _are_ like Marsies."

"It's just meant to be pretty," Susan said with a chuckle.

"Would you share the name of the vendor with me? There are a few people I might like to give one to."

"I'm afraid you're out of luck there. He was closing up shop when I went back for this."

"You put him out of business?" Tessa asked with a smirk.

"Not exactly. He said that when he was working on it, his Drazi customers all started asking for copies of their own. I guess word of mouth spread fast. He had to close the shop and open up a factory to keep up with demand. He said he's going to be rich. Well," she temporized, "technically he said we were going to be rich, and that he'd share my cut with me when we made it back this way."

"That's not likely to ever happen."

"Which is what I told him, but he insisted he would keep my percentage ready for me. Anyway, I hear the factory won't be ready until well after we leave. Sorry."

"No, thank you for this. And happy Hanukkah."

A moment later, someone knocked at the door. Without waiting for leave, Commander Sinclair started to enter, then stopped when he realized there really wasn't room for him in the tiny office, even when Susan and Tessa both stood up. Instead, he stood in the doorway. "Are you two ready for this?""

"Commander," Susan said. "We're not even sure exactly what it is we're supposed to be doing."

"For now you're just going to locate the leader of the strike, a Ms. Nioma Connolly. We picked her up with the Mars University evacuation. Wasn't _that_ a lucky break," he added sarcastically. "She's not officially a labor negotiator, but it's what she was studying for, and it's in her family history. I've been trying to talk with her, but she's been ducking me. Bring her to me, so we can discuss things and find out what they want. We'll let her know how important it is that they all get back to work. We have to let them know that we are willing to hear them out, but that under the circumstances we will not allow them to carry on as they are for long."

"Starting with threats won't get them to back down, Commander," Tessa warned.

"Which is why I want the two of you involved in this; because you _will_ listen to them. Hopefully they will listen to you as well. But, make no mistake, the time we have to resolve this peacefully is limited. Others were already pushing to just arrest them all."

"That's crazy!" Tessa said. "It wouldn't resolve anything!"

"Which is exactly why I pushed for these meetings, and why you two were brought on board. I'll be ready to support you, but I'll stay out of sight while you're collecting Ms. Connolly, to avoid getting them worked up. And before you ask, no, I can't let you leave the security detail behind."

"You're not exactly making it easy for us, Sir," Susan said.

"If it was easy, anyone could do it. You two were brought on precisely because it won't be easy. Now, you better get going."  
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Less than an hour later, Tessa and Susan were walking into a crowded hangar bay, filled with grungy workers who had called in sick. They began to wend their way through the crowd to the center, where a feisty blonde of about their age could be heard speaking to the crowd. "Let's remember, let's try to keep a cool head during management negotiations," she was saying loudly to the group.

Suddenly a Hispanic man in his late thirties or early forties stepped directly into their path and crossed his arms, giving them a hostile gaze. "What do you want here?"

"Getting out of my way would be a start," Tessa said, looking him directly in the eye.

"It's all right, Eduardo!" called the blonde, who had noticed the altercation. "Let them through." A disgruntled muttering arose from the crowd, but the man stepped aside and a path was cleared for them.

"I've been expecting you, ladies," the young woman said.

"We're here to escort you to Commander Sinclair," Ivanova stated. "He's requested the honor of your presence ...twice. Maybe you didn't get the message."

"I've been tied up. I've got a lot of sick workers here." The entire crowd erupted into a simultaneous coughing fit, interspersed with chuckles and outright laughter.

"You think this is funny? Huh? Well, I don't." Tessa snapped.

The blonde, certainly the Nioma Connolly they were looking for, responded immediately. "We're as serious as a rip in a space suit, and we want Sheridan and Sinclair to know it."

"By staging an illegal strike? I'd have thought you were smarter than that."

"Sinclair and Sheridan are career military," Nioma said. "I don't expect them to understand. But I know you're a Marsie under all that Earthforce gray, Officer Holloran. And I hear you're Russian, Ms. Ivanova. You both understand the needs of real people...of working class people. We're only doing what we must do."

"I know," Tessa replied, "but this isn't the way."

"And what other options do we have, Ms. Holloran?"

"That's what we want to talk about."

The man who had confronted them earlier now shouted out, "The hell with your talk! We got people dying out here, Ms. Security Lady! Sinclair wants us to talk! What does he take us for, fools?"

"All right, all right!" Nioma overrode him. "Let me handle this, all right?" Turning back to Susan and Tessa, she said, "Ok, the Commander wants to talk, we'll talk. Let's go." She walked past them, headed for the door.

Once they were past the crown, Susan said softly, "Your friend is looking for a fight."

"That was Eduardo Delvientos. His little brother Alberto was killed in the accident.

The bottom fell out of Susan's stomach, but she soldiered on. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose someone close. So does the Commander."

Tessa joined in. "He wants to help, Nioma."

The only response was a brief, "We'll see."  
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Less than an hour later they were meeting with Commander Sinclair in a small conference room, plushly furnished from the Olympic's days as a luxury vessel. Sinclair was trying his best to break through to Nioma. "I'm asking your people to go back to work. If they don't I'll have to bring Captain Sheridan in on this. He's willing to use force. We're under martial law, Ms. Connolly, and this work stoppage is endangering all of our lives. For all we know, we're all that remains of the human race."

"Then you shouldn't be wasting those lives enforcing unsafe working conditions. And Sheridan wouldn't have the guts to do that. It would inflame public opinion amongst the fleet, unite Earthers and Marsies and everyone else against your military rule."

"Don't be so sure about that. We've all been pushed too far, and things are changing. And not all for the best. Look, you've made your point. Sheridan has been made aware of your grievances. There's nothing else you can gain by continuing your strike."

"I can't send my people back to work without some guarantees."

"I can't guarantee anything while you're on strike. If you just trust me…"

Nioma spoke right over him. "You military folks are just another face of Earthgov, and not a better one. Now we have to deal with a bunch of Michael Jankowskis. Don't try to tell me the military is any more trustworthy. Jankowski proved that your brass was filled with sons of privilege, back room dealing, and glory hounds who got us into the current situation. _That's_ what you're asking my workers and me to trust. Every time we trusted Earthgov, we got kicked in the teeth."

Tessa broke in, unable to stop herself. "And what happens if your people start kicking back? Huh? If you force them into a confrontation…"

"We won't be the first to use force!" Nioma cut in hotly.

"I saw what went down in the docking bay. They're angry, Nioma!"

"They have a right to be angry!"

Sinclair cut back in. "They also have a right to hear what I've just told you."

"They will, but I can't recommend they return to work."

"I don't think you understand the consequences…"

"Don't talk to me about consequences!" Nioma interrupted again. "My father was shot dead during the '37 mining strikes. I've spent my childhood defending workers' rights. I won't stop. My people are just looking after themselves and their families. Get us safe and decent working conditions. Then we return to work! Not a minute before."  
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"Well _that_ didn't go well," Susan said, after Nioma had left.

"I think I just made things worse with my presence," Sinclair noted somberly. "She clearly doesn't trust me. I want the two of you to go in without me for the next round. I'll be nearby to provide any backup you need."

"Next round?" Susan asked.

"I got a message from Captain Sheridan just before the meeting. He wants the strike ended by any means necessary within the next twenty-four hours. Otherwise Garibaldi will go in with troops to arrest Nioma and the other leaders of the strike."

"Commander," Tessa said, horrified, "that would be a huge mistake. It could lead to rioting and open rebellion against the military leadership. A lot of people could die. And I don't know that it would actually speed anything up."

"You know that, and I know that. I assure you that Captain Sheridan knows it as well. But he's desperate. He seems to have a hunch that the Minbari will be here any day. If it was anyone else I would just assume it was the stress. But I've come to trust John Sheridan's hunches with my life. The man has nine lives and the Devil's own luck. Maybe I'm just getting foolish in my old age, but I think _someone's_ looking out for him."

Tessa hesitated, then said, "We need solutions, Commander, not messianic figures."

"Then go find me some. You have twenty four hours. Oh, and I am doubling your security detachment. Captain's orders."  
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Early the next morning, Susan and Tessa returned to the hanger which the leaders of the strike were using as their gathering location. They hoped that by meeting Nioma and the other leaders here, on their turf, they might be more open to reaching an agreement.

"You people and the work you do are an essential part of this fleet," Susan tried again, standing in the center of a large group of spacers. "The Minbari are coming. The work you need to be doing could mean the difference between the survival of this fleet or its destruction. Think of all of those people. Think of your families."

"We're doing this for our families," Nioma countered. "We are moving towards an unknown future. What will our families do, how will they survive, if we are killed servicing this fleet. Accidents are going to happen when you work the hours we do at the speeds that are being forced upon us. And what do we get for this sacrifice? Nothing! We're treated exactly the same as every other civilian in this fleet. While most of the citizens and even the Marines and GroPos just sit around, working quarter or half shifts at best, doing make work like dusting and vegetable cleaning, we're pulling triple shifts running equipment that will kill us in a heartbeat in an environment that is just as unforgiving. And we're treated exactly the same. Ms. Ivanova, you're right. My people are a part of this fleet. They move the goods and perform the repairs that keep it running. Hell, many of them helped to set it up in the first place. What do they get for it? They work double and triple shifts, bypassing even standard safety measures, for no pay or benefit at all."

"You're work," Susan countered, "keeps this fleet moving, hopefully staying ahead of the Minbari. Don't let recent events fool you. We wouldn't stand a chance against them in a straight up fight. This admittedly dangerous work you are doing saves your own lives, and those of your families. _That's_ the benefit you get. I'm sorry, we just _can't_ slow down. You'd be signing your own death warrants, and those of every other human in this fleet. Please, return to work and we'll see what we can do to alleviate these problems."

"These problems killed people, Ms. Ivanova, a lot of damned good people. And as the duly elected representative of this guild, I won't let it happen again!"

"We just don't have the time to accept the changes you want. We want them too, but the safety of the fleet must take precedence. This was an unfortunate accident, but Captain Sheridan says that if we don't get moving again, and soon, the Minbari will have us."

The man who had been so angry yesterday spoke up again. "Has Captain Sheridan ever worked a space dock? Or tried to refuel a ship while being pushed to move faster and faster because of over scheduling? Or felt the pain in his bones from operating a zero-G cargo loader for twelve hours?"

Susan struggled to remember his name for a moment. "You have a point, Mr. Delvientos? You're the senior foreman, correct? My condolences regarding your brother."

"Yes. And, yeah, I got a point. I've worked docks for thirty years, and at the rate we are burning our people, we won't be able to keep going for two months, let alone two years, and if you won't do nothing about it, you can damn well get your Captain Sheridan to run those repairs." His statement drew shouts and cheers of agreement from the surrounding workers.

"If that's your response," Tessa said, "You will leave Captain Sheridan and Commander Sinclair no choice but to enforce martial law with troops! Is that what you want?"

"They're bluffing," Nioma countered.

"Don't count on that. Commander Sinclair tried to tell you, things are changing."

"One thing hasn't changed," Delvientos said, stepping forward. "The workers always get shafted. But this time, we'll fight back."

Nioma turned to him. "Eduardo, we have to keep cool. If we don't we're finished."

"We have a right to defend ourselves, Nioma."

"But not with violence," Tessa cut in.

"Beg your pardon, Officer, but if someone's pushed you, wouldn't you push back?"

Susan turned back to Nioma in alarm. "Damn it, Ms. Connolly, can't you stop this now? Your people are obviously spoiling for a fight."

"It's too late for that. My workers are tired. They've been pushed too far," she shot back passionately.

"You know what could happen if the Commander is forced to send Garibaldi in."

"The same thing that happened on Europa, and at New California, and at Matewan. The same thing that happened every time labor stood up for themselves and said 'No more.' They try to break us, we fight back. Someone will get hurt, maybe killed. For what it's worth, I'm sorry this has to happen now."

"I think it's time for you two to leave," Delvientos told them angrily. "Don't make us throw you out." At the threat, several of the dozen security personnel assigned to Tessa and Susan stepped forward to intercede. Surrounding spacers began to shove them backwards, and both sides began shouting. Tessa tried to command the troops to back down, but several were already pulling out stun batons, and the workers were grabbing heavy wrenches, metal rods, or anything else they could use for the fight that would spill out any second.

Someone shouted, "GUN!" and a PPG blast was heard. The fight broke out immediately with both sides swinging desperately at each other. The outnumbers security officers grabbed desperately for their sidearms, but most were grabbed and thrown to the ground, as workers struggled desperately to disarm them.

Susan drove an elbow through the nose of a worker who made the mistake of attempting to restrain her. She swept the legs out from under another and then kicked him in the chin as he tried to regain his feet. She turned just in time to see Tessa drive her knee into a worker's groin three times in rapid succession, then hurl him bodily into another worker who was charging at her. Their skulls connected with a sharp crack, and they both dropped limply to the ground.

They made eye contact, and the understanding that passed between them was neither verbal nor telepathic, but they turned in unison and each grabbed one of Nioma's arms. Lifting her from the floor, they hauled her rapidly out into the haul, passing another two dozen security officers who were rushing into the room. The sound of scattered PPG discharges could be heard from inside the room.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Connolly," Tessa said, "but it is my duty to inform you that you are being placed under arrest."  
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Almost a day later, Nioma sat handcuffed to a table in a tiny interrogation room. She had been alone for hours, with nothing to eat or drink. Without warning, the door burst open, and a pair of Marines dragged in Eduardo Delvientos. He looked much the worse for wear, his face puffy and discolored from numerous blows. He was placed none too gently into the chair beside her, and he was similarly handcuffed to the table. The Marines left without a word."

"Oh, Eduardo. You shouldn't have fought back. Are you alright?"

"I've had worse. We gave as good as we got, you know?"

"I heard PPG fire. Was anyone...was anyone killed?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. More of us than them, that's for sure. Once they started shooting, we surrendered pretty quick," he admitted with shame in his voice.

"Eduardo, that's exactly what you should have done. Don't you dare regret it."

Their conversation was interrupted as the door opened again, much more gently this time, and Commander Sinclair, Deputy Holloran, and Ensign Ivanova entered the room. They sat on chairs on the opposite side of the table. Eduardo faced them with sullen trepidation, but Nioma felt the anger growing within her.

"I want to begin by assuring you that the medical needs of your people are being seen to. This was an unfortunate and unnecessary confrontation, and I am sorry that it happened."

Sinclair actually sounded sorry, but Nioma was having none of it. "Don't be ridiculous, Commander. You're not sorry at all. You got exactly what you wanted. Labor shoved down into it's place. When you couldn't convince us to do what you wanted, you used force. Let me guess, this is where you blame the violence and the dead on us, and demand we return to work or spend the rest of our live in a cell. Maybe you're even planning to threaten spacing us? Or maybe...maybe you just intend to do that anyway. Make an example of the two of us, and then offer the choice to someone else. Someone you think will be more pliable."

"Don't be melodramatic, Nioma," Tessa snapped. "You've gotten us into a deep enough hole as it is. It's time we started working on getting out of it."

"Why would we help you at all? After you attacked us, you want our help?"

"That's not how I remember it," Susan cut in. "Eduardo here threatened to throw us out. When our guards moved up to protect us, it was _your_ people who started the physical altercation, trying to shove them back."

"And it was _your_ people who brought the guns. How many of my people are dead because of it? Innocent men and women doing their best for themselves and their families?

"Fourteen," Tessa said coldly. "And four dead security officers. And there would be more dead, and Susan and I might even be hostages right now, if we hadn't had a couple of squads nearby as backup. Your people went for our guns the second violence erupted, even when Susan and I were trying to calm things down."

"Of course they did. They had no other way to defend themselves. But it was _your_ people who started shooting." Nioma said, trying to stand up. She was stopped short by the handcuffs still connecting her to the table.

Tessa seemed about to say more, but Sinclair cut in. "We're wasting time." He activated a display panel. The grungy face of a familiar man filled the screen. "Ms. Connolly, Mr. Delvientos, do you recognize this man?"

Nioma was irritated at the attempt to change the discussion. "You know who it is. That's Web. No doubt you rounded him up with the rest of us. Unless he's dead?"

"No," Sinclair responded. "He's not dead. And yes, he is in custody. But he doesn't show up in any of your crew records. Who is he?"

Eduardo replied. "Web Mudgett. He's one of our junior foremen. He came on with the final refugees from Earth, but he's got some good skills. He's a good man."

"Web Mudgett? As in Webster Mudgett?" Tessa asked with a surprising amount of interest. Nioma nodded.

Sinclair scowled. "So why isn't he in any of your records or logs?"

"Oh, I don't know," Nioma said bitterly, "maybe because of all the chaos of evacuating everyone we could from Earth and Mars, cramming them into this fleet, and running away as fast as we could? Or how about because my people have all been too damned busy to keep up with paperwork, and why would they anyway, when most of the safety regulations that paperwork is in support of have been skipped and ignored? Or how about the fact that my people work as hard as they do for the same food chits that everyone else gets, so there's not really any need to do any kind of payroll accounting?"

"And was Mr. Mudgett in favor of the strike? Did he push for it? Did he push for violence?"

Nioma hesitated for a moment, thinking furiously. "Is that what this is about? Are you planning on using a clerical error to crucify a good man and hopefully scare us all back into line? It won't work. Yes, Web pushed for the strike. Yes, he wanted us to defend ourselves, but he was far from the only one."

"Did he push harder than most?" Sinclair persisted.

"He was _angry_!" Delvientos snapped. "So were a bunch of others. So am I!"

Sinclair looked directly at Eduardo, meeting his eyes for several long seconds, forcing the man to calm down. "You didn't start shooting, Mr. Delvientos."

"Bullshit," Nioma burst out. "We didn't bring guns, you did. My people don't have access to weaponry. That's part of the martial law this fleet is under."

Sinclair reached up into a pocket and pulled something out, tossing it onto the table. It was a trio of medium sized drill bits. "Would it surprise you to learn that those were found in Mr. Mudgett's footlocker?

"So?" Eduardo asked curtly. "A man forgets to take some tools out of his pockets at the end of a long day, and that's supposed to be some sort of crime now?"

Tessa cut in, "Don't you have a policy against people removing tools from the worksite?"

"Yes," Nioma responded angrily. "It's one of those safety regulations we've all been forced to forego for the sake of speed!"

There was a very long pause, then Sinclair asked, "Mr. Delvientos, Ms. Connolly. Would it surprise you to learn that a forensic analysis found the blood of twelve different telepaths on these three drillbits? All of whom were found dead, crucified, and with holes drilled into their heads? Would it surprise you to learn that the drill we found in that same footlocker has the blood of fifteen more telepaths on it? Or that we've been positively able to track Mr. Mudgett's movements and place him in the location of at least half of the telepath murders we have on file? More blood was found under his nails, by the way."

Nioma stared at him in horror. Memories of the last few days flashed through her mind. Web had been one of the most outspoken. He had said again and again that they were being pushed around, that it was going to lead to a fight and they needed to be prepared. She felt sick. It was a good thing her stomach was empty. "The serial killer…" she whispered to no one. Beside her, Eduardo looked just as stunned.

Tessa spoke up. "We also found traces of a military grade explosive in that footlocker. It's always been a possibility that the hangar accident was intentional sabotage. The type of explosive found would be perfect for replicating the effects we saw. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to perform a thorough enough investigation," she said sadly. "Your people aren't the only ones being forced to move too fast to do a good or safe job. Eduardo, I'm sorry to say that I believe Mr. Mudgett is responsible for the death of your brother."

Eduardo looked as though he had been punched….again. Nioma softly asked, "how can you know?"

"We can't," Tessa responded. "However, would it interest you to know that his real name was Gunter Mansfeld, and that he was a suspect in several unsolved murders on Earth? He made a stupid choice for a fake name, though. Herman Webster Mudgett was one of the first known serial killers to operate in North America. He was better known as H. H. Holmes. Jesus, the man practically wrote 'serial killer' on his forehead. You'd think that in a fleet under martial law, and with so many people in uniform, that something like this couldn't fall through the cracks. I've been chasing this bastard for months, and had no idea he was here. He's being charged with the murders of fifty-seven telepaths, the attempted murder of two more, the murder of everyone who died in the hangar explosion, several officers who died in the recent fight, and all of those unsolved murders on Earth for good measure."

"How…" Nioma began, "how do we know you aren't just making this up to get us back to work?"

Sinclair hit another button, and a scene began to play for them, at an odd angle. It was the fight in the hangar, as seen from some obscure camera."

"We caught a lucky break," Susan said. "One of your heavy lifters was left on. This is the image from its backwards movement camera. I'm surprised that it actually records, rather than just displaying for the operator."

"It's a safety feature," Eduardo muttered. On the screen before him, he saw and heard himself threatening the female officers before him. He saw their security attempt to move forward, only to be shoved backwards by his co-workers. And then he saw, clear as day, Web reaching into a pocket of his coveralls and pulling out a PPG. One of the security officers noticed it and yelled 'Gun!' only to take a PPG round directly to the face. At that point, everyone went crazy. The scene continued to play as the security officers attempted to grab their own PPGs, while the workers tried to take them away. More shots rang out, and several people he dearly loved died before him. "Shut it off," he croaked. Mercifully, Sinclair turned off the display.

"So what happens now?" Nioma asked.

"This," Sinclair said, "is the part where I shake you down. In addition to being on the side that actually started the killing in that hangar, both of you and every other worker in that hangar are technically accessories to numerous murders, legally complicit. Under martial law, I could space you all, and no one would bat an eye. But that doesn't get me what I actually want."

"A return to work," Nioma said, defeated.

"Yes. I was told that I was to end this strike by any means necessary. Well, here are the means I find necessary. One, I am tripling the food chit allowance for every one of your workers. At least you and your families will be able to eat better. You could use the food to supplement others of your choice. It's up to you. Two, I'm declaring amnesty for any striking worker or representative who has committed no other crimes during this period."

"That's you, kid," Tessa said to Nioma with a small smile.

"Three, we will select a large group of people, who are currently on light duty, but have the appropriate skills or aptitudes, and assign them to work half shifts supplementing your people. We did something similar with our military craft, bringing on cadets. This will actually make your workload heavier, at least temporarily. You will be responsible for training them, for guiding them, and for ensuring their safety. But, after a while, it really will help. And you can choose which ones you want to bring up to a 'full-time' status. Finally, I give you my personal assurance that the families of anyone who dies performing this vital job will receive the support of the fleet, both en route and once we finally reach wherever it is we're going.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Connolly, Mr. Delvientos. I can't slow down the work, as unsafe as I know it is. Captain Sheridan is convinced that the Minbari could be here any day, and I have to agree with him. If this fleet isn't ready to move by the time they get here, we're _all_ dead."

"Why?" Nioma asked, stunned.

"Consider it a late Christmas present. Or maybe a sign that those in charge are actually more friendly to your needs than you chose to believe. Ms. Connolly, if you can find safety procedures that _don't_ slow us down, I will gladly back them. And if we can get safely ahead of the Minbari, we can talk about re-instituting some of the old ones. I'm sorry, that's the best I can do. That's my offer. It's dependent upon your returning to work immediately. This fleet has repairs to conduct."

"It's enough," she said. "You have a deal, Commander."

Sinclair gestured to the door, and they all started to walk out, but then Eduardo paused. "Commander?"

"Mr. Delvientos?"

"Will the Minbari really be here any day?"

"Yes, we believe so."

The worker looked at his feet, then said. "We weren't trying to put no one in danger. We have to live here to. We just wanted to take care of our families. Thank you, Commander. And...I'm sorry." Eduardo cleared his throat. "What's going to happen to Web...I mean Gunter...ahh...Mr. Mansfeld?"

Susan grimaced. "Somehow, a lot of this information leaked. I swear it wasn't me, but the telepath community is up in arms. Can you blame us? Many are threatening their own work stoppage, though that won't go anywhere. There are still a lot of visible former Psi-Cops around, and dissolved or not, the Corp casts a long shadow. But they...we... are demanding justice.

Sinclair cut in, "And Captain Sheridan agrees. Given the existing state of martial law, and how absolutely clear the evidence is, we're going to forego a lengthy civilian trial. A military jury, utilizing the Captains of the military vessels, was convened and found Mr. Mansfeld guilty. Technically, we could space him immediately, but it was decided to be more merciful. To show that we are still human. Captain Sheridan took Commander Bester's advice. In a few hours he will perform the Death of Personality. Mr. Mansfeld will spend the remainder of his life working a sewage reclamation plant on a tramp freighter."  
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The Council of Captains gathered to oversee the administration of justice. Sinclair noted that Captain Sheridan did not look at all happy. Jeff respected the man's rank more than just about anyone else on this council. He had sided with him on every single vote. But in this case, he didn't much care. John, despite this mess of a Council, felt the burden of command. It was clearly wearing on him, and he could tell that the man had little patience for civilian obstructionism. _But these are just regular, ordinary people, dammit_. It was his job to stand up for them, no matter what John Sheridan felt. For now, he was just going to have to weather the storm.

Sheridan didn't seem content to just glower. He walked over and confronted Sinclair, standing next to him so they could talk while they both continued to watch the proceedings. "Commander, we didn't send you in there to accede to the demands of malcontents."

"No, you sent me in to get them working again, which is exactly what we have done."

"By giving them special treatment. What happens when the next group decides to hold up the fleet until they get some special treatment? Our resources aren't unlimited."

"What we gave them was mostly reassurances and some extra food. We've got plenty of food, particularly since the Drazi topped us off. We also gave them hope. Hope that things would get better. Hope that their families would be taken care of. You gave me leave to resolve things by any means necessary. These are the means I determine to be necessary."

"That's not really what I had in mind, Commander," Sheridan said without rancor.

Jeff turned and made eye contact with the Captain. "Don't give someone a loaded gun, John, if you don't know where they're going to point it."

Sheridan chuckled, his earlier mood dissipating. "Fair enough."

At that moment, Gunter Mansfeld, a.k.a. Webster Mudgett, was brought into the room by a half dozen Marines. The man was wearing purple coveralls and restraints. A Chaplain was in accompaniment. A heavy gag covered his face, and his eyes darted around in confusion, and no small amount of terror.

"What's with the gag?" Jeff asked quietly.

"Bester insisted," John responded. "He said he would have to touch the man's filthy mind, he didn't want to have to hear anything he had to say as well. Did you really feel the need to hear this monster's last words?"

"No, I suppose not."

The killer was taken to a medical examination table placed in the middle of the room, and strapped down to it. He tried to say something, but it was completely unintelligible through the gag.

Bester walked into the room. Mansfeld seemed to recognize him, his eyes going wide. He jerked, then thrashed wildly against his restraints, heaving and jerking. He shook his head manically, screaming into his gag.

The actions seemed to disturb most of those present. "Have you even seen anything like this?" John asked uneasily.

"No. But then I've only been to a couple of these before."

Bester laid his hands on Mansfeld's temples. With a tearing scream, the serial killer heaved with all his might one final time, straining in vain against the restraints. And then the scream cut off, and he went limp in his bonds.

It was over more quickly than most would expect. The skilled former Psi-Cop wiped away an entire life in less time than it would take most people to eat dinner. When he was finished he simply turned and walked out of the room. The rest of the Captains waited a few moments, then left the now blank Mansfeld to the care of the Chaplain. They returned to their duties in relief.  
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Commander Alfred Bester entered his personal quarters, exhausted, only to find that he had a visitor. "Hello, Al. I assume it's done?"

"Hello, Director. You know, you probably shouldn't just pop by like this. Someone is bound to notice."

"Is it done?" Drake asked again, determined.

"Yes, it's done," Bester sighed. "I don't care how deeply someone attempts to scan him. No one will ever be able to pull out of him that he was working for you."

"For us," Drake corrected.

"If you wish," Bester said.

"It was necessary, Al. Our telepaths are starting to think they really _can_ fit in with mundanes. They needed to be reminded that in the long run, the mundanes will always hate and despise us. They needed to be reminded to fear."

"I suppose so. Now, if you wouldn't mind Director, it really has been a very long day."

"Of course, Al. Sleep well."

"Like a baby, Director."


	11. Chapter 10 - Suprise and Upset

Chapter 10 - Surprise and Upset

 **Hyperspace - Minbari Fleet Approaching Zhabar - January 2249**

"Watching the storm, Delenn?" a voice asked.

Awash in the swirling reddish hues of hyperspace, currently more active than she had ever seen them, Delenn did not bother to turn to see whom it was who had spoken. Both voice and stride told her it was Shai'Alyt Branmer. She merely inclined her head slightly in his direction.

"It is the worst storm I have ever seen in hyperspace," he continued. "Very violent. We are having difficulty maintaining a perfect formation."

"Is the fleet in any danger?"

"We are the unsurpassed masters of hyperspace travel, Delenn. Save for the Vorlons, of course. Other races might need to run for shelter, but the Minbari are not bothered by a simple storm. We will make our way through. We may be a bit later than anticipated arriving at Zhabar, but everything should be fine."

"That is good to hear. It will be well to finally put this sad chapter behind us." She finally turned and looked at him gravely. "In order to do that, we need to do more than just put a stop to the human exodus. We need to ensure the war does not spread to the Drazi. They may wish to protect the humans. We must show them that they cannot hope to stop us. Show them, short of violence, that they have no choice but to turn the humans over to us."

"Is that not why we brought this fleet, Delenn? As a statement to the Drazi? Look upon us and despair, for you have no hope."

Delenn nodded. "Yes, but we cannot depend solely on that. We must give the Drazi time to absorb that message. We should make our transition to normal space well outside of their defenses, then slowly approach over the course of several hours. This will give them time to realize they cannot do anything to stop us."

"That may give the humans time to run, Delenn. Rather than turning them over to us, the Drazi may just tell them to leave."

"So much the better. The humans cannot escape this fleet once we have them in our sights. They are too slow. All running will do will be to separate them from the Drazi, which is exactly what we want."

"And what if the Drazi interfere? Even if they believe they cannot fight us, they might try to slow us with talk, or even play games with their ships, attempting to slow us by flying into our path."

"We do not initiate violence, Shai'Alyt. That must be understood. We will defend ourselves if the Drazi attack. Anything else is merely, as you said, games. We simply ignore it. The antics of children are beneath our notice."

Branmer sighed. "As you say, Delenn. I should note that such a strategy carries its own risks."

"Significant risks?"

He hesitated. "No, I suppose not. We are the Minbari."  
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 **Refugee Fleet - Zhabar - January 2249**

Once again, Captain John Sheridan stood aboard the bridge of the Nova with Ambassador Vizak, watching screens displaying his ship and the human fleet overall. This time however, they were surrounded by activity. Both on the bridge of the Nova, and in the orbitals beyond, everywhere they looked humans and Drazi swarmed industriously. "It's absolutely amazing," John said. "I can't begin to thank you enough, Ambassador. I would never have believed the repairs could have occurred at such a pace. Every civilian vessel has been repaired."

"Well," Vizak demurred, "not every one. Over a dozen of your vessels were simply too badly damaged for us to repair properly in the time we had."

"But then you replaced them all with comparable vessels of your own. That's...just incredibly generous, Ambassador. We're almost ready. Both the Lexington and the Nova are well over ninety percent complete. Just a few more days, Ambassador, and we can get out of your...scales."

Vizak chuckled, familiar with the human phrase Sheridan had started to use. "It has been our pleasure, Captain. More than that, it has been our honor. I only wish I could offer your people true safety. But there, I am afraid we fail you. We will not fight the Minbari, Captain. We have told them not to come, that you weren't here, but if they do come, we will not stand in their way."

"I would not ask you to, Vizak. Not after what the Minbari did to my people. Not after everything you have already risked. We will finish these repairs, and then take this threat away from your people. And please, call me John."

Before the Drazi Ambassador could reply, Takashima interrupted them. "Captain, we are receiving a priority communication from Drazi military command. It's addressed to both you and Ambassador Vizak."

"Put it through to the main screen, then," he replied. The indicated screen quickly lit up with the face of a tall Drazi with a rich purple cast to his scales.

Vizak clearly recognized him, as he immediately responded, "Makar Bor'ka, it is good to see you. You wished to speak with us?"

The Makar grimaced. "I bring grim news, Ambassador. A massive Minbari fleet, over four hundred vessels, has entered into the outer realms of our system. They are headed here, and at current speeds will arrive in less than twelve hours. They have refused all hails, sending only a single message."

"And that was?"

"They demand that we surrender the humans."

"Then they will be disappointed." He turned back to John, clearly intending to say his goodbyes, then paused. He turned back to the Makar, staring at him for several seconds. John looked at him in confusion and some concern, until Vizak drew a deep breath. "Scramble all fleet assets. Stall the Minbari. Talk to them. Block them with our ships. Delay them by any means necessary short of attacking them or allowing a collision. There are still hundreds of thousands of humans on the surface. The humans don't have enough lift capacity to return to their ships in the time available. Commandeer every shuttle we have to get them back into orbit!"

"It will be done," the Makar said briefly, and then killed the connection.

Sheridan stared intently at the Drazi Ambassador in surprise. "I thought you said you wouldn't stand in their way, my friend."

"Yes. I did say that, didn't I? It would seem the universe is full of wonders."

"Will the Shadak approve? Do you have the authority to give those orders?"

Vizak smiled. "They have given me broad authority. Probably just so they can absolve themselves of any blame, but I will take what I can get. My orders will stand. Now, I believe that you are about to become very busy, Captain. I will take my leave of you, so that my personal shuttle can be used to bring more of your people back from the surface. Should we both survive, and somehow meet again, you will allow me to treat you to a round of Bor'Kaan. Fare you well, John Starkiller.  
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 **Minbari Fleet - Approaching Zhabar - January 2249**

Several members of the Grey stood looking out the window. It was not an official meeting of the council; they were not in the meeting chamber. No, this was just a good place for viewing the activity outside of the ship. There was quite a bit of activity.

A Drazi Sunhawk whipped by the window so close that several of the gathered Minbari actually flinched. Delenn was no braver than they, but her instinctive reaction had been to freeze in place, which looked much more dignified from an outside perspective.

"This is intolerable!" Coplann spat. "Don't they know who we are? We should burn them from the skies for this insolence!"

"We will do no such thing!" Delenn insisted sharply. "The Drazi play games, but they are not actually doing anything to harm us. No weapons fire, no collisions. They are riding the line between honor and self preservation. Which means the plan is working. We DO NOT need to fight them."

A Warrior hurried up and reported to Branmer. "Shai'Alyt, the Drazi have gathered nearly five hundred vessels in front of us. It is the sum total of their mobile military assets in the system. They are now so close that our stealth systems are mostly ineffective."

"Intolerable!" Coplann repeated. "Is this not a sufficiently hostile act, Delenn? We must defend ourselves!"

"The Drazi are not harming us in any way." Delenn replied calmly.

"Perhaps not, but they are doing what they can to allow the humans to escape!"

"Good. If the humans leave Drazi protection, then there will be no one between them and us, and no reason for us to engage the Drazi."

Branmer broke in before Coplann lost his temper, "Delenn's plan is sound, Satai Coplann. Somewhat dangerous, perhaps, but still sound. It has the potential to save the lives of billions of Drazi, and perhaps thousands of Minbari; goals to which we should all aspire. However, given the current situation, I must insist that this vessel leave the vanguard of the formation, and pull back into the body of the main fleet. This position poses an unacceptable level of risk to the Grey Council. The safety of the Council must be assured. We cannot afford to lose you."

"Well," Coplann responded. "At least THAT makes some sense."  
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 **Drazi Fleet - Hyperspace**

"This makes no sense."

As the hyperspace storm had receded, General Trkarda had found himself hanging unconscious from his safety harness. He was far from the only one. In fact, as far as he could tell everyone aboard the vessel had been rendered unconscious. Not unexpectedly, it seemed to be the redoubtable Makar who had regained consciousness first. And, true to form, he had not let unconscious crew members stand in his way. He seemed to be running his own sensor sweeps and damage control inspections, flitting from station to station.

"This makes no sense at all," the Makar repeated.

"What, Makar?" the General groaned, struggling to sit up properly. "What makes no sense?"

"General, are you alright?"

"I am fine Makar. Now answer the question, please. What makes no sense?"

"Everything, general. Or rather, nothing at all makes sense."

"Perhaps you should slow down and go through the list of the things that are confusing you, so that we can both be properly confused."

"Yes, General. First, we are in a perfect Phalanx Cube formation. When I say perfect I mean it. Beyond inspection ready. As far as I can tell sir, each ship is in perfect formation down to submillimeter precision...down to the point where our sensors are no longer accurate enough to measure properly."

Trkarda looked at him in surprise, but said only, "Continue."

"Every vessel is accounted for sir, and remote interface shows that they are all at one hundred percent combat readiness."

"That is certainly good news."

"But, General, during the storm not only were our ships being knocked out of formation, many were taking damage. Minor damage, fortunately, but damage still. That damage should show up as degradation of our combat readiness. But every single ship I have checked shows no signs of damage at all. Sir, we had three ships whose reactors had fallen out of phase. All three vessels now show reactors operating at perfect efficiency." He ran another check, and a strange laugh bubbled out of him. "All ships in the fleet show fuel levels at one hundred percent."

"That's impossible. Could something be wrong with your sensors?"

"I thought about that General. So far as I can analyze them, they seem fine. Now that the engineers are awakening, I will have them double checked. But General, do you see the young Lieutenant at the security post?

Trkarda swung his eyes to the indicated Drazi. He looked perfectly normal. "Yes."

"He broke his arm in a Mutai bout the day before we left. Before we lost consciousness it was in a sling and a nasty shade of green. Now the sling is gone, and the arm seems fine."

Trkarda tried to beat his foggy mind into submission, to focus it on the mystery. There was something...something right at the edges of his consciousness. "Wasn't...wasn't there something about a ship? Didn't we detect a ship during the storm?

"A ship general? I don't recall hearing about that. Were they caught in the storm with us?" Without awaiting a response, the Makar checked the computers. "I'm sorry general. The logs do not indicate the presence of another vessel. We were alone in the storm." He hesitated. "But none of these are the strangest things, General."

"Well? Best just tell me, Makar."

"You may recall that we were struggling to maintain beacon contact?" At Trkarda's nod, he continued, "We now have a completely solid beacon lock...because we are mere kilometers from the beacon. But it's not the same one, General. Sir, we've somehow been returned to Zhabar. Every vessel in the front rank has had their jump engines charged, and exact coordinates for opening jump points are set in their nav systems. It's as though...it's as though we are set to perform a combat jump into our own home system! And General...the chronometer reading from the beacon indicates that months have past since we lost consciousness!"

General Trkarda's pulse began to hammer. He felt the chains of destiny encircling him. "Well, Makar. When dealing with something miraculous, best to chock it up to a miracle. Feel free to pick a god...Droshalla perhaps. Someone wants us right here, and right now. Someone wants us doing exactly what we are about to do. Sound battle stations. Prepare the fleet for a combat jump into normal space."

"Into our own system?!"

"We're not going to attack ourselves, Makar," Trkarda said with exasperation. "Most likely we will simply look foolish to whatever Drazi are manning the system defense grids. Call it a good test of preparedness then. But all of these mysteries lead me to believe that we may just be needed. You said that every vessel in the front rank had jump engines charged?"

"Yes, sir."

"One hundred jump points then, each spitting out ten of our ships. We'll emerge in Phalanx Cube. Upon transition, we'll take a moment to figure out what is happening, and then decide what to do from there."

"Yes, General."

"Makar, transmit the orders. Advise me when all ships are ready to jump to normal space."

"General Trkarda," the Makar said formally a few moments later, "all ships report readiness for combat operations."

"Jump."  
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 **Minbari Fleet - Zhabar - January 2249**

Delenn stood next to Branmer aboard the bridge of the Valen'Tha. Of the four Satais present, she was the only not of the Warrior Caste. Despite the continued provocation of the Drazi, they would soon be in weapons range of the human fleet, which was only now beginning to get under way. They were actually moving into a lower orbit of the planet, trying to increase their speed to get to the far side, putting the planet between themselves and the oncoming Minbari fleet. It would not save them. More importantly, though all of the other human Warrior craft were now underway, the Nova class dreadnought, believed to be Starkiller's vessel, was not. When the fleet finally got into range, a dozen ships would fire as one and finally eliminate that particular stain on the Minbari honor.

A Drazi Sunhawk made a particularly close pass, actually darting through the Minbari fleet. The exquisitely detailed hologram filling the space above them rendered the event in perfect detail, causing several members of the crew to flinch from the passing.

Alarms began to wail. The ceiling erupted into the bright hues of multiple hyperspace vortices, aligned in a perfect grid, each one disgorging multiple vessels. The Religious Caste officer manning the sensors station called out, "One hundred jump points forming. They're right on top of us. Reading hundreds of Drazi vessels."

"It's a trap," Coplann shouted. "Open fire!"

"No!" Delenn shouted. She tried to tell them that nothing had changed. She tried to tell them that bloodshed was unnessary. She tried to insist that the Minbari not fire until fired upon.

She was too late. The Warrior manning the weapons systems reacted instinctively to Coplann's shout. The Valen'tha opened up with all guns. The rest of the Minbari fleet belatedly followed.  
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"General Trkarda, there are over four hundred Minbari vessels in the system!" The Makar looked up sharply at his General. "They have opened fire on our vessels."

"Return fire."

The Makar turned to his task, then grunted in satisfaction. "General we emerged so close that we are inside their stealth envelope. We have at least partial weapons locks. Reading successful hits."

"Move the fleet in closer. Press them, but stay maneuverable. All ships are to maintain loose Phalanx Cube formation, but are free to maneuver as neccessary within their assigned position."

"General, the system defense forces were already concentrated to block the Minbari fleet. I'm reading roughly five hundred of our ships in close contact with the Minbari. They have moved to attack as well."

"Good. They can be the anvil, we will be the hammer. We'll see if we can crush these Minbari between us."

"Sir, I am also reading a significant human fleet in orbit of Zhabar. Hundreds of ships, almost entirely civilian and merchant vessels. There seem to be less than a handful of warships, probably meant to guard their civilians."

Trkarda was silent for a moment. "That can only mean one thing. The Earth Alliance has fallen. Open a channel to the largest of the human warships. Tell them that this might be a wise time for them to speed up their retreat. And tell them...tell them the Drazi pay their debts."  
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Takashima turned to Sheridan. "All civilian vessels now underway, Captain. Maximum burn. We just received a message from the flagship of that new Drazi fleet."

"And what did they have to say, Laurel?"

"They suggest we hurry sir. And they remind us that the Drazi repay their debts."

"With interest, Commander. With interest. Looks like we better be going. Chivvy the civies along. Let's not overtake anyone. Get some tugs back here, in case anyone burns out their drives during the run. We don't want to have to turn around to take them under tow. Set the exit point for at least three AU from our current position. We don't want to hop into hyperspace in the gunsights of any Minbari who transition from their current position."

"Yes, Captain."

Sheridan turned back to his displays of the battle. He itched to join in, but his responsibilities lay elsewhere. The Minbari had made a massive mistake. Or rather, not a mistake. They had taken a massive gamble, and the odds had been strongly in their favor. But fortune had turned against them again, with the highly improbably arrival of this new Drazi fleet. Someone was smiling on his little ragtag fleet. Time he got them out of harm's way.  
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"The humans are getting away!" Coplann shouted, as the Valen'tha heaved around them. "Plot an intercept course. We have to stop them!"

"We have other things to worry about," Branmer countered. Ignoring Coplann's demand, he instead ordered, "Tighten formation! Increase defensive fire!" He turned back to Coplann. "Satai, we are outnumbered by more than three to one, and their ships are so close that our stealth systems are all but useless. This is going to be a brutal confrontation. Now stand aside and let me fight it!" Turning back to his tactical displays, he calmly said, "that space station is the heart of their planetary defenses. Have the Valen'tha and the dozen vessels assigned to hit the human Dreadnought fire on it instead."  
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"Minbari formation is shrinking, General. Their firepower is incredible. Our forces are being decimated." A blinding flash lit up their displays. "They just destroyed Zhabar Station One," he said in horror. A Brostilli Class War Base, it had been far and away the most powerful Drazi asset in the system, and the center of Drazi command and control.

"Open a system wide channel. Make it known that I am taking direct command of all Drazi forces. Have all ships move inside the Minbari formation.

This order was too much even for the unflappable Makar. "General, that's insane!"

"The Minbari won't be able to coordinate their fire at that range, and the superior maneuverability of our smaller ships will make it much harder for them to hit us than it will be for us to strike them back. More importantly, it will lock them into place, preventing them from advancing on Zhabar. With Zhabar Station One destroyed, planetary defenses are substantially reduced. Our Drudoma OSats can't carry the load on their own. Who knows what the Minbari might do if we let them get close enough."

The Makar hesitated for a moment, then gave the command. Drazi vessels surged forwards, moving in on the beleaguered Minbari fleet.  
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Alyt'sa Neroon swore under his breath as a Sharlin less than a dozen kilometers off their port bow detonated in a titanic blast, finally overcome by the repeated hammering of multiple close passes by Drazi Sunhawks. He stood on the bridge of the Rak'ka, the fleet flagship and personal vessel of Shai Alyt Branmer. Neroon keenly felt the Shai Alyt's absence. He should be commanding this battle from the bridge of his flagship. But there wasn't even supposed to _be_ a battle. So, instead, the Shai Alyt had been aboard the Valen'tha, consulting with the Grey Council. Ensuring that any maneuvers or adjustments in support of the message they were sending the Drazi were carried out promptly by the fleet. All in the name of that _ridiculous_ plan. It was supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the Drazi.

Neroon quietly swore again as a Tinashi lost control of its drives, veering to starboard and plowing right into one of its sisters. The Drazi certainly weren't showing very much fear. "Have our escorts pull in tight to our flanks. They are to concentrate all fire on anything looking to fire into our rear quadrant. Focus all guns forward and swat down anything and everything that passes in front of us."

"Yes, Alyt'sa," came the swift response. A moment later another Warrior called out to him. "Shai Alyt Branmer wishes to speak with you, Alyt'sa."

"Put him through immediately."

A moment later a hologram of his commanding officer appeared right before him. Branmer wasted no time on pleasantries, though Neroon bowed to him respectfully. "We are being hedged in, Neroon. The Drazi play a game of maneuver, while we bog down and huddle up like a pack of Kloo. Take command of the vanguard and break out. Maneuver. Show the Drazi that we are the hunters, not the hunted."

"Si dromo," Neroon responded, but the hologram had already faded. "Contact all remaining vessels in the vanguard. They are to form up on our flanks and follow us through the any maneuvers we undertake. Confirm."

A moment later the Hiai'i assigned to intership communications looked up. "All remaining vessels confirm, Alyt'sa."

Neroon nodded. "Fayzen shok!"

The vanguard drove into the loose Drazi formation.  
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Branmer watched as the Rak'ka and the savaged remains of the vanguard spun nimbly, surprisingly agile for such enormous vessels, and settled into the rear of the largest remaining squadron of Sunhawks. They opened fire and, within seconds, the entire Drazi squadron simply ceased to exist. "Very impressive, Neroon," he muttered to himself. "Satais," he continued in a much louder voice, "I believe the Drazi are finally broken. Though we lost over a hundred ships ourselves, primarily our Tinashi escorts, we have eliminated over eighty percent of the enemy vessels, and nearly one hundred percent of the planetary defense assets they tried to use against us." The last few hours had been horrific, filled with the worst fighting Branmer had ever seen. Despite their somewhat limited losses in ship numbers, there wasn't a single vessel in the Minbari fleet which hadn't taken at least some, and in many cases significant, damage. But at last, victory was within their grasp.

"You speak as though this is a victory," Coplann hissed. " _One hundred ships_! One hundred ships, lost to a species as insignificant as the Drazi. And now we have a new war to fight."

"That has yet to be decided," Delenn insisted.

Coplann ignored her. "Where are the humans?"

Branmer sighed. "They orbited to the far side of the planet at the very start of the battle. Since then they have been skillfully keeping it between us, preventing us from determining their exact location. They could still be in orbit, or halfway across the system."

"Then we must overtake them! Plot the quickest course past the planet and give chase!"

"Satai, that would take us into the teeth of the remaining Drazi planetary defenses.

"You said they had been reduced, Shai'Alyt. Simply deal with whatever is left. That includes any surface defenses which try to engage us." Before Delenn could argue, he turned to her and said, "You cannot object to us simply defending ourselves in the pursuit of our primary target, Delenn. That is something that was decided from the beginning of this debacle." Delenn silenced her objections, unable to argue the truth of Coplann's statement.

Branmer straightened. "Very well, Satai. Setting course."  
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"General Trkarda," the Drazi Lieutenant with the mysteriously healed and now rebroken arm called. "The Minbari fleet is moving."

Trkarda longed to hear the report from his indomitable Makar. But the Makar was dead, and the Lieutenant would just have to make do. "Destination?"

"General, they're heading right for Zhabar!"

Trkarda struggled to maintain calm in the face of imminent disaster. The Minbari were going to do it. They were going to bombard Zhabar. _Not while I still draw breath_.

"Status of the ship?"

"Heavy damage, General. We've lost nearly half the crew. All weapons systems are dead."

"Propulsion?"

"Reactors are spotty, but it looks like we can maintain full output, at least for a while."

"Status of the fleet?"

"It's...it's just gone sir. Less then three hundred vessels remaining. Most of them heavily damaged. Many with no or minimal weapons, just like us."

Trkarda nodded absently. "Open a channel to the fleet." At the Lieutenant's nod, he spoke to his remaining forces. "All ships with minimal propulsion remaining are to pull back and shelter in place, effecting repairs as possible. All vessels with at least seventy percent capacity on your thrusters, you are ordered to reduce to minimum possible crew complement and follow this ship in. By the end of this day, the Minbari will never again underestimate the strength and resolve of the Drazi!" Cutting the feed to the fleet, Trkarda opened up a ship wide channel. "All hands, abandon ship." Cutting that channel as well, he finally looked around to the remaining bridge crew. Every one met his eyes. "I will not ask you to stay, but neither will I order you to leave. The decision is yours. There is no shame in saving your lives. Zhabar will need your like in the future. If you would go, go now."

Not a single Drazi moved an inch. "Very well, then. Ready at the helm?" Receiving the final confirmation, he settled back into his seat. He smiled and said, "Pick one of those big bastards, and give me ramming speed!"  
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On the large holographic display a trio of Sharlins, long since having lost their escorts, attempted to break through the Drazi ships and bring their final orbital defenses under fire. A dozen Sunhawks dove towards them, not bothering to fire. The Sharlins fired wildly into the formation, and the Sunhawks began to die. One. Three. Five. Nine. The remaining three Sunhawks did not strafe the Sharlins in a close pass. That was not their intention. Instead, one Sunhawk plowed into each of the three Sharlins. The mighty Minbari warcruisers, already heavily damaged, stood no chance of surviving the impacts. As one, all three vessels erupted into the titanic explosions which were their death knell.

"Order the retreat,"Branmer said woodenly.

"What?!" Coplann shouted, spinning on him. "We are the Minbari! We retreat from no one!"

"Satai, we've lost over fifty ships in the last few minutes, all Sharlins. The Valen'tha itself has come under attack, and was nearly rammed, and there are still a lot more Drazi vessels out there. I will not risk the safety of the Grey Council for the sake of a hollow victory."

"But the humans..."

"The humans have escaped, Satai! It is as simple as that. We can no longer give chase. Not with the fleet as it currently exists. I do not intend to lose any more Minbari fighting these crazy Drazi in a battle that minimizes nearly every one of our advantages. We can come back later and deal with them or the humans with relative ease. But for today, we retreat."

Coplann glowered at him. "Very well, Shai'Alyt. Have your retreat. But we will be back. The Drazi will know our displeasure. And the humans...they shall not escape. A day or a millennium, we will run them down.  
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 **Shambah, Drazi Space - Exodus Fleet - January 2249**

Catherine Sakai turned from her controls and the helm. "Transition to normal space complete, Captain Levitt. The fleet is following us in." The Eratosthenes had made use of the Shambah jump gate, trusting that Drazi space was likely still secure, but keeping its jump engines ready for an emergency evacuation.

"Good. Notify all ships, as they come in, to perform maintenance inspections immediately. We don't know how far behind us the Minbari are. Only emergency repairs are to be performed. All ships that read as nominal are to be prepared to retransition to hyperspace. That includes us. As soon as the Lexington is through, we'll need to make ready to leave.

Kathway interrupted, "Captain, we have a Drazi Sunhawk coming across the system at high speed. They won't be here for a while yet, but they are signalling us."

"Maybe they have news of the battle at Zhabar. Put them through to my panel." A moment later, a dark purple Drazi face was staring out at her in consternation. "Greetings. I'm Commander Levitt of the EAS Eratosthenes. How can I help you?"

"Humans. I thought you were at Zhabar. I was ordered to bring you warning. What are you doing here?"

"The Minbari followed us to Zhabar. Ambassador Vizak instructed us to make a run for it, but the Minbari attacked your people anyway. The battle was still ongoing when we left the system. I was hoping you were bringing word of it, Makar...?"

"Zhivak. No, I was not. This is disturbing news. I was bringing warning myself from our borders. Minbari scouting vessels have been spotted all along our border, and in the systems beyond. They are operating singly, but they are out there. Be careful, Captain. Danger lies before you. I would escort you to our border, but it would seem my duty calls me to Zhabar. I must see to the defense of my homeworld."

"Of course, Makar Zhivak. Both your warning and the hospitality of your people are very much appreciated. We shall take greater care. But we must also make haste. Good luck to you, Makar."

"And to you, Captain."

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 **Minbari Fleet - Deep hyperspace, leaving Drazi territory - January 2249**

The Grey Council chamber was awash in blame and recriminations, reassurances and despondence. All anyone could focus on was the fact that the Drazi had just caused a greater military disaster than anything even Starkiller had accomplished.

Coplann stepped forward into the circle, grabbing everyone's attention. Gradually, the arguments and side conversations ceased, and the chamber fell silent. "This bickering resolves nothing. It is time the Grey made decisions; time the Minbari took action. It is time we planned our war against the Drazi."

Another flurry of arguments broke out, until Delenn stepped into the circle and the silence returned. "We are not at war with the Drazi," she told Coplann sternly.

He rounded on her in a near fury. "We lost over two hundred ships, Delenn! Between this and the losses to the humans, all of the new construction since the war began is essentially negated. What else would you call it?"

"Self defense? We were in their system..."

"They attacked us!" he hissed, cutting her off.

"No. _We_ attacked them. _We_ fired first, at your order, Coplann. An order you had no right to give. It is the decision of the Grey Council to enter into a war. The plan was working. The humans were leaving. If not for your rash command, we might not have lost a single vessel," Delenn said with a quiet intensity.

"Or we might have lost everything. They were already passing close enough that collisions were a danger. Then they jumped a thousand more ships in right on top of us. How else would you explain those actions?"

"Who can say? Perhaps it was _their_ version of approaching with gun ports open."

"Do you mock our traditions now, Delenn?"

"No. I am merely aware of the fact that aliens have _different_ traditions."

"Is that the point of all this? More self-castigation that the humans didn't mean to start a war? Those matters have been decided. We are at war with the humans, and we will carry this war through to the end."

"Yes, we are at war with the humans. But we are _not_ at war with the Drazi. Not yet. The point, Coplann, is that now we can never really know what the Drazi's intentions were. We cannot know if a war is really necessary. And no war can be prosecuted without the decision of the Grey Council."

"What would you have us do then, Delenn," he asked in aggravation. "Over sixty thousand Minbari died in that abattoir of a battle. We cannot just let that stand."

"And we will not. But we must think carefully on how to deal with the Drazi. And we should not do anything to them until after the war with the humans is settled."

"The humans move further away from us. Catching them requires us to move beyond the Drazi. You do not leave a potential opponent at your back. It invites disaster. Ask any Warrior if you do not trust my word, Delenn. We simply cannot leave the Drazi free to do as they wish. Not and continue to run down the humans. They could do any number of things to hurt or hinder us. Or even to continue to help the humans."

"Fine," Delenn conceded. "Then we will not. Let us seal them off. No war, but prevent them from leaving their space, or others from entering it."

"A blockade Delenn? Do you realize what that would require? Drazi space is nearly as large as the Federation, and they still have a substantial fleet with which to make trouble. Blockading their space would require a massive number of vessels. Remember all the losses we just took? We also have yet to find and eliminate all of the human colonies. That search also requires significant assets. And then of course there is the chase of this human fleet. The farther ahead of us they get, the more directions they can travel, the more systems we have to search. This also consumes considerable resources. And let us not forget, Delenn, your insistence that the Shadows may be returning, and that we keep the defenses of the Federation at a heightened level. We do not have enough ships for all of these things."

Delenn considered for a moment. "Some time ago you asked our Workers to look into how difficult it would be to bring up ships from the reserve storage yards. Could that not supplement our forces?"

Now it was Coplann's turn to look thoughtful. "Yes, that is a potential solution. Bear in mind that it will require significant effort from everyone, but the Worker caste especially. Also, those ships are out of date by their very nature. There are perhaps two or three thousand which are immediately worthwhile, more than enough for our current needs, but none of them will be front line units. They could all stand to go through a good modernization program, but we could do without for now. Of course, if at any point we chose to move beyond those ships, everything else would definitely require a modernization refit." He thought for several more moments. "All right, Delenn. I will agree to your proposal. But, I will need you to agree to a couple of additional items. First, we begin modernization of all of the vessels in the reserve yards, to be completed in no more than ten years. Most of them have needed it for centuries. We also need to double the rate of our new construction. Agree to this and I will not oppose blockading the Drazi or any other species who oppose us."

Delenn looked horrified at the concept. "But, the expense..."

"An expense which is required either way, whether we choose to blockade the Drazi or war with them. Besides, you are the one who had been telling us that we need to prepare for the return of the Shadows. I don't see any such signs, Delenn, but if you truly believe what you have been telling us, then surely you accept that the reserve fleets should be upgraded to modern standards."

"Wasn't it you, Coplann, who said that even _having_ those reserves was a waste of resources?"

"Yes. A statement made before this council began throwing fleets under Drazi guns, or requesting massive blockades.

Satai Kodmer of the Worker Caste interrupted. "These programs would indeed require a massive commitment from the worker caste. We could not possibly undertake them at such speed and still man one third of the additional ships brought into service."

Coplann nodded. "Understandable. The Warrior caste will crew your share of these vessels, until such time as you have sufficient personnel to do so."

Delenn hesitantly said, "That would create a significant power imbalance between the castes."

"It was you who put us on this path, Delenn," Coplann said sharply. "Do not balk at what is required to continue down it successfully. The Warrior Caste has trusted you through a series of more and more bizarre demands. The least you can do is trust the Warrior Caste not to abuse the resources we need to perform the tasks you have set before us."

Delenn hesitated, then bowed deeply to Coplann, in apology. "It is agreed."  
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 **Zagros, Drazi Space - Exodus Fleet - January 2249**

"The Eratosthenes is away Captain," Lieutenant Commander Takashima called from her station. "The Fleet is beginning to follow."

Despite his concerns over leaving Drazi space, Sheridan would be glad to leave Zagros. They had stayed for far too long. After their extremely brief stop in Shambah, a number of maintenance items had caught up with them. _It's all those short haul civilian craft we're dragging along with us_ , he thought. _They're the slowest vessels in the fleet, and they require five times the maintenance. They just weren't designed for this kind of extended travel_. Despite the extra danger, he couldn't regret bringing them, though. They increased the fleet's overall population by thirty percent. That many lives...it was simply worth the risk.

His musings were interrupted by an alarm from Takashima's station. "Captain, we have a jump point forming 300,000 kilometers to starboard."

"Another Drazi?" They had made contact with several Drazi warships. It seemed the battle over Zhabar had gone very poorly, but in the end the Minbari had retreated. John had never thought he would actually see the day when a Minbari war fleet would be forced to flee.

Laurel looked up and met his eyes. "No sir. It's Minbari."

"Sound battlestations. Launch all fighters and bring us about. Advise the fleet to speed up the transition."

Turning back to her displays, the Lieutenant Commander continued, "It seems to be alone. Trying to match the profile. It's not a Sharlin or a Tinashi. Not one of those scouts we tangled with before." Another alarm chimed. "We have fighter launch...three, six, twelve...sir, enemy vessel just launched forty-eight fighters into space. It's a Morshin class carrier. Their fighters are falling into formation."

The news caused a hush to fall over the bridge. During most of the war, trading an entire squadron of Starfuries for a single Nial was considered a strong performance. The fleet had improved on that, but still; that single Minbari vessel had just launched enough fighters that the fleet's own fighter group would barely outnumber them by two to one.

Sheridan did his best to maintain his Captain's demeanor...that aura of strength, calm, and determination that could reinvigorate a shaky crew. He needed to be strong so they could be strong. "Don't worry, Lieutenant Commander," he said. He spoke directly to her, but pitched his voice so that the entire bridge would hear. "This won't be anything like the last time. That vessel is far more lightly armed than even the scout ship we faced. Its punch is in its fighters, and Commander Sinclair just graduated another squadron of telepaths." That squadron hadn't been nearly as prepared as the group which had gone through with Ivanova. However, instead of training four squadrons, Sinclair had focused on only one. The downtime at Zhabar had allowed them to focus on nothing but training. They were untested and green as hell, but they should be ready. "Between our telepaths and their wingmen, we can field almost seventy fighters that can penetrate Minbari stealth. And we'll have another surprise for them as well."

Turning to the comms officer, he ordered, "Contact the Lexington, Midway, and Mother. Have them form up on us in an echelon formation. Let me know when Commander Sinclair has the fighter group assembled."

"Fighter group is forming up now sir. It should just be another minute."

"The moment we have every fighter massed, order Sinclair to charge right down the throats of those Nials. Advise the Lexington, Midway, and Mother that we will be following them in at maximum thrust."

"Sir?" The Ensign looked up in surprise.

"You heard me. Pass the order."

Takashima leaned in close to him and pitched her voice low. "Captain, if we charge in with the fighters it will leave the fleet uncovered."

"If those fighters get here, Lieutenant Commander, they can cripple the fleet simply by going after the civilian vessels. Better to stop them short of here."

The hatch to the bridge opened, and Talia Winters, Lyta Alexander, and four additional telepaths made their way onto the bridge, sealing the hatch behind them. They crossed to their designated seating, which had been installed specifically for them, around the targeting and tracking stations. Sheridan found it odd to see people on his bridge holding hands, but their services would be invaluable this day. "Ms. Alexander, I'll need to know when you start to get a feel for the Minbari fighter group."

"Yes, Captain." If she felt out of place leading the telepath contingent, the young woman did not show it at all.

"Captain," Takashima advised, "the fighter group has fully formed up. Commander Sinclair is beginning his attack run."

"Very well. Follow them in, max thrust. Ask Commander Sinclair not to get too far ahead of us."

"Aye, Captain."

The two fighter groups slowly swept towards each other, with the human warships coming in close behind. Despite their substantial acceleration, it would take quite some time for them to meet each other.

Watching his readouts, Sheridan ordered, "Keep an eye on our closure rates Laurel. We'll need to begin a hard decel prior to convergence, so that our relative velocity is no greater than one kilometer per second. We don't want them sweeping through us and towards the civilians, with us unable to turn around and engage. Pass the information on to Commander Sinclair please. Status of the Morshin?"

"They seem to have decided to follow our example and trail their fighters in. They're a good deal further back than we are, though. Why would they do that, sir?"

"Who knows? It's possible they wish to remain close to provide support for any of their fighters which become damaged. Or they might simply be taunting us with their invulnerability, playing some giant game of chicken. If that's the case, they aren't going to like the results. In any case, they're doing exactly what we want them to do."

"But why are they even here? What kind of idiot sends out a carrier without escorts?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say they were using the carrier in a scouting role. They've probably figured out that we like to hide in the outskirts of systems. Sensors can only go so far. For a hard search, you need a lot of mobile platforms. A carrier can provide that in a way no scout ship can. Seems like a waste of a good capital ship to me. As for the lack of escorts, I have no idea. It's clearly a tactical mistake."  
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"Alyt," the Religious Caste officer said, bowing, "the humans have begun deceleration."

The Alyt grunted. "They don't want us sweeping past them and into their civilians, with them unable to catch up. They needn't worry. I have no intention of doing anything to their Workers before I have slaughtered every last Warrior."

The Religious Caste hesitated, then said, "Apologies, Alyt, but should we be following our fighters this closely? We are operating without escorts, and a Morshin is not a Sharlin. A carrier is not meant to engage with a dreadnought."

The Alyt looked down his nose at the man. Bad enough that he had to have a puling Religious Caste on his ship, much less to have his actions questioned. Unfortunately, the man was a genius at using fighters to conduct an in depth search of a system. Still, some things could not be allowed. "Are you questioning my orders, Priest?"

"No, Alyt. I am merely seeking...understanding."

The Alyt grunted again. "Then understand this, Priest. That is Starkiller out there, and for once he cannot ensnare us with his damned traps and ambushes. There are no asteroids for him to mine and no planets to hide behind. He cannot ambush us coming out of the jump gate, because we are NOT coming out of the jump gate. For once, we hold the advantage. Our stealth fields are fully in place, and we will maintain the distance to ensure they cannot land a single hit. We have no need for escorts, they cannot harm us. Our fighters will slaughter their pathetic Starfuries and they will peel the guns off of those warships, as we did at the battle of Sinzar. Only then will we finally approach and carve them into scrap."

"We lost a Sharlin to a human ramming attack at Sinzar," the man noted softly, to the Alyt's irritation. "And doesn't following our fighters into the battle threaten to eliminate that distance?"

"No. Once the Nials engage, it won't take them long to render Starkiller's ship impotent. He has made the mistake of following his fighters into combat rather than fleeing. If we do the same, perhaps he will not realize the enormity of his error until it is far too late."  
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"Closure rate one kilometer per second. Ninety seconds to merge," Takashima called out.

Sheridan smiled. "The Minbari are about to learn the enormity of their error." He glanced over at the telepaths. Lyta gave him a smile and a thumbs up. Looking back at the display, he waited a few more seconds, then gave the command. "Fire."

The Nova spit out the very last energy mine in its stores. It was meant to be an area denial weapon, for standing off at thousands of kilometers, or hundreds at the very least. At less than a hundred, it should be deadly accurate. Or it would be, if not for Minbari stealth. A functional stealth field meant that they'd be lucky to take out a single Nial.

Unfortunately for the Minbari, human telepaths were now looking right through their stealth fields. They weren't targeting experts though, and targeting across even short distances simply by feel was incredibly challenging. Which was why the telepaths were feeding the "feel" of the Minbari directly to the targeting officer, rather than trying to point the location out on a screen as Lyta had done against the Minbari scout ship. Detecting multiple small ships at range was very difficult. Feeding the information to a normal increased that difficulty. Thus, the team of telepaths. Working together, the six of them were able to accomplish something that even a P12 might not be able to. Smaller groups of telepaths, duos and trios, were also assigned to every gun turret, in case individual targeting became necessary. Today, it would not be.

The energy mine burst just short of the loose Minbari formation. One hundred megatons blossomed like a new star, obscuring the Nials from sight. When the glare cleared, the formation had been demolished. Only twelve Nials remained under power, the rest either destroyed or disabled. The twelve still in motion had been damaged and tossed about, shorn of their wingmen. The pilots regained control of their craft, then spun about, attempting to regroup into a cohesive formation. They were still calling for orders when the Starfuries swept over them.  
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"Three quarters of our fighters have been destroyed, Alyt," the Religious Caste said in horror. "How? How is this possible?"

"A lucky shot with an area weapon. Our stealth fields prevent the humans from knowing where we are, but they don't actually stop human fire. Even blind fire is dangerous, with good luck. Or bad luck, in our case."

"Alyt, 'luck' is merely a manifestation of the will of the universe. Why would the universe wish us to be defeated?"

"It does not! Have a care with the words you speak, Priest," the Alyt warned threateningly.

"The humans are engaging our remaining fighters," another officer called, this one proper Warrior Caste.

The Alyt considered. "Continue with current course and accelerate. Order the fighters that can to return. We will pick them up and leave the system."

"That brings us closer to the human guns," the Religious warned softly.

"I will not abandon our Warriors," the Alyt shot back hotly. "The humans have gotten their one lucky shot. The universe will not allow them another. Our stealth field will protect us while we recover our fighters."  
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"I think the other pilots might be getting upset with us," Ironheart said cheerfully.

"Oh, the poor little duckies. My heart bleeds for them," Susan responded.

"You hardly sound as though you're filled with remorse and regret. Incoming."

Susan spun her craft and fired, Ironheart a second behind her. This time it was Susan's pulse cannons which shattered the Minbari fighter. It was her third kill of the engagement. Ironheart had also picked up three kills, which meant that between the two of them they had just taken out half of the Nials to survive the energy mine detonation. "Totally remorseful. Filled to the brim with regret. Think we'll get another?"

"There can't be many left. Certainly the other pilots are doing _something_."

"I don't think you're keeping up your end of the remorseful and regretful routine."

"I can't help it if these Minbari just seem to keep jumping in front of our guns."

"The other pilots won't see it that way. You have to admit that it is a little bit odd that we're always in the right position to take out these Minbari."

"I'm not complaining," Ironheart responded. Then he took another large dose of the telepathy enhancers.  
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"The humans are being far more effective than expected, Alyt. Most of our fighters are gone." The Religious Caste officer was becoming very annoying indeed.

"They must have been more damaged from the energy mine than we thought. A burst that close was bound to reduce their effectiveness."

"The human warships will enter weapons range in seconds."

"Give me a targeting solution. After this debacle, I want to at least be able to say we damaged Starkiller's ship before we were forced to leave."

"Alyt, they are closing on us rapidly. Should we pull back?"

"At this range our stealth fields are completely effective. They'll never hit us, while we can cause significant damage to them. Don't be afraid, Priest. You are perfectly s..."

The deck lurched under them, sending several Minbari to the floor. The Warrior staffing damage control called out, "We're hit. Weapons fire from the Dreadnaught hit us in seven different locations. We have fires on decks three, eight, and twelve. Several sections exposed to vacuum. Damage control teams are responding."

"We were hit seven times?" the Alyt asked incredulously. "Impossible. Check again."

"The humans' heavy cruiser is firing," another officer called. The ship began to shake again, though much less violently this time.

"Multiple hits."

"Impossible!" the Alyt stated again. "Status of our stealth systems?!"

"Stealth systems operating nominally."

"Impossible!"

The Nova fired again.  
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"Minbari vessel breaking up, Captain. No sign of escape pods," Takashima reported.

"Any sign of additional Minbari ships?"

"Nothing right now, Sir."

Sheridan sighed. The IPX folks were still clamoring for Minbari tech. Getting it, though, would be both dangerous and time consuming. "Best not to risk it," he muttered to himself. Louder, he ordered, "have the fighter group return to the fleet under maximum burn. All ships to follow at best speed. How many civilian vessels are still in system?"

"Not many."

"Then I guess we'd better join them and get out before the other shoe drops." He took one final look at the remains of the battle. _At last, a clear victory_ , he thought to himself in satisfaction. _No ambushes. No traps. Just two forces going head to head. Sure, we had some capabilities they were unaware of, but this was a straight up fight. And we_ destroyed _them_


	12. Chapter 11 - Unwelcome Guests

Chapter 11 - Unwelcome Guests

 **Sector 83, Unclaimed Territory - Exodus Fleet - February 2249**

"Captain Lochley, I think you're going to want to hear this," Lieutenant Commander Rickerson called out.

Elizabeth turned to her first officer. "What is it, Tom?"

"Our EM sensors just noted an Abbai cruiser entering through the system jumpgate. They immediately began broadcasting a looping message. It appears to be meant for us."

Elizabeth frowned. The fleet had been in system for almost two days, conducting replenishment and repairs. Since they had left Drazi space, they had resumed their original practice of hiding in the outskirts of a system. They were currently parked near the outer edge of the system, hiding in a loose grouping of KBOs. Their position was just under eighty-eight AUs from the jumpgate, which meant that the Abbai vessel had actually arrived about twelve hours ago. They might not even be there anymore. "Main screen," she commanded.

The image of an Abbai female filled the screen, her salmon colored skin and ridged cranial crest nicely complimented by the apparently coral and stone based structures in the background. She began to speak. "This message is meant for any humans which may be in this system. My name is Ambassador Kalika Qwal'Mizra. I am one of many females who have been assigned by our Natar to seek you out. We wish to speak with you. If you can hear me, then please come out and speak with me. You know us as an honest and peaceful race. I give you my word that we mean you no harm." The image fuzzed slightly, and then the whole message began again.

Elizabeth frowned. "Send a copy of this message to the Nova, Midway, and Eratosthenes. Oh, and also the Mother. You have the bridge, Tom. I'll be in my quarters."

Leaving the bridge, she made her way back to her cabin. It was a reasonably short trip, the designers of the Hyperion class wanting to keep the Captain as close to the bridge as possible. Once there, she began the process of contacting the other members of the Captains' Council over an encrypted channel. She did not have long to wait. In less than five minutes, the entire Council was assembled, each communicating from their own rooms or other private locations.

Garibaldi, as usual was blunt in his concerns. "Does anyone think we can trust this alien? This Ambassador Kalika something or other?"

"As she said to us, our records show the Abbai to be an honest and peaceful people," Levitt responded.

"It smells like a trap to me," Garibaldi said.

"To what end?" Sinclair asked.

"Maybe they plan to sell us to the Minbari. Maybe they just don't want to have to go through what the Drazi did. I don't know, maybe I'm just being paranoid, but she's an alien, a woman, and a politician; and all three make me nervous."

"Very nice, Mr. Garibaldi," Levitt said dryly.

"You won't want to visit their home planet, SSumssha, then Lieutenant Commander," Lochley added. "They're a matriarchal society. All government positions are held by women. That includes the position of Natar. I believe that's like an Empress."

"Visit it? I can't even pronounce it."

Sheridan interrupted. "Given what the Drazi did for us, I think we should give this set of aliens a chance. Not every species is the Minbari."

"The Centauri weren't exactly the friendliest to us when we visited, Captain. The Narn were pleasant, I guess, if you can overlook the extortion."

"Regardless," Sheridan continued in annoyance, "I think we should follow up on this opportunity."

"I agree," Lochley said, followed by several nods from the others around the table. Only Garibaldi and Bester seemed hesitant.

"Given their societal inclinations," Sheridan continued, I'd suggest Commanders Lochley and Levitt for the contact, perhaps aboard the Lexington, while the rest of the fleet remains hidden.

Bester spoke up. "I've heard that every member of this species possesses an empathic sense...a mild form of telepathy, really, which allows the sensing of emotions. They are quite weak; P1 rating or less. Still, perhaps we should send a Psi-Cop with you, to guard your thoughts."

Lochley thought about it. "It's not a bad suggestion, Commander, but I'd be concerned that her presence would be transparent and insulting to the Abbai. We need to make friends, not enemies, and I'd rather not risk a social gaffe." Bester grimaced, but nodded in agreement. Lochley turned her gaze to Levitt. "All right, Sandra. Since we all seem to be in agreement, why don't you shuttle over to the Lexington, and we can go and see what the Abbai have to say."  
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The Lexington slid slowly out of a hyperspace vortex, and approached the Abbai vessel. They had jumped into hyperspace so that the Abbai could not use their approach to identify the location of the fleet. The Abbai vessel remained silent as they drew near, allowing them to get within a few kilometers. The Lexington loomed over the smaller alien craft.

"Any idea what kind of vessel that is?" Sandra asked her friend.

Lochley frowned as she reviewed the lines of the Abbai ship. "We haven't had a lot of military or political interaction with the Abbai since the Dilgar war, so I can't be certain. However, based on reports I have read, I'd say it's a Marata class diplomatic transport. Which would make sense, I suppose, since it seems to be carrying an ambassador. Lightly armed, but then most Abbai ships are. It's defenses are impressive though; again, like most Abbai vessels. Tom," she said, raising her voice, "let's see if anybody's home."

At Elizabeth's command, the First Officer hailed the alien vessel. The Communications Officer looked up in consternation. "Captain, the Abbai said only that they wish to speak in person, and the channel was cut."

"Captain," Tom called, "we have a small shuttle launching from the Abbai vessel."

Lochley raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "I guess we better prepare a welcoming party then. Grant them clearance to come aboard. Senior officers to the hangar deck."

Shortly, Lochley, Levitt, Rickerson, and the rest of the senior officers stood at attention, awaiting the arrival of the Ambassador. A pressure hatch hissed and opened, and the same salmon colored face that had graced the earlier recordings emerged. "Greetings. I am Ambassador Kalika Qwal'Mizra," the woman said with a bow, "representing the Abbai Matriarchate. Thank you for choosing to speak with me."

"Commander Elizabeth Lochley. It is our honor, Ambassador," Lochley responded returning the bow, then offering a smart salute. She introduced the rest of the officers who each saluted in turn. She then dismissed everyone but Levitt to return to their duties. "Ambassador, if you would please follow us, we have a small room prepared so that we may speak in comfort and confidentiality."

"It is not far I hope," the Ambassador stated quietly. "I am afraid I have very little experience with weightlessness. Our ships all have artificial gravity, you understand."

"Of course, Ambassador. It's not far. Right this way, please."

True to her word, the Ambassador was indeed extremely awkward in the zero-G environment, and both Lochley and Levitt were forced to grab her multiple times to keep her from floating away. However, the meeting room was indeed not far, and they soon had the Ambassador ensconced behind closed doors.

"May I offer you refreshment, Ambassador?" Levitt asked. "Something to eat or drink?"

"Thank you, no. I have had the opportunity to sample some human foods in the past. They are all terribly bland. If everything is going to taste like water, why not just drink water?"

Lochley rose and retrieved some zero-G spacer bulbs and placed one in front of the Abbai, then handed one to Sandra and took the last for herself. "You are of course welcome to forego, but I did some research on your species's tastes, and I think this might be to your liking.

The Ambassador looked askance at the bulb, and handled it awkwardly, but rose to the challenge. Clearly they really didn't have need of such things on their space vehicles. Locating the straw, the Abbai took a sip. Her eyes widened in surprise. "This is not bad. Not as tasty as T'm'lai'na, but quite good. What ever is it?"

"Rum and Coke. I altered the Coke mix to increase the syrup concentration and enhance the acidity. T'm'lai'na has been known to dissolve human intestines and even eat away some of our metals."

"You poor things." She gave them an appraising look. "Correct me if I am wrong, but you are both females, correct? Did the downfall of your species finally teach you the folly of having males in leadership positions? Are you now the rulers of your species?"

Lochley gave an amused grin. "Not quite."

"Not _yet_ , anyway," Levitt appended, also amused. "We're working on it."

"The best of luck to you then," the Abbai offered, with a shallow bow.

"You wished to speak with us, Ambassador?"

"Yes," she responded, her face growing serious. "The Natar has been staying abreast of the situation throughout the galaxy, including recent events in the Drazi Freehold. She has a request for your people."

"And that is?"

"Do not come near the Matriarchate."

Levitt and Lochley shared a concerned glance. "Our destination is not the Matriarchate, Ambassador," Sandra said cautiously.

"I didn't say don't come _to_ the Matriarchate. I said don't come near it."

"But why?"

"Need you ask? It is what you bring with you. The price paid by the Drazi should make that clear enough."

Lochley frowned. "The Drazi felt they owed our people, for what we did in the Dilgar war."

"The Natar...the Abbai...we feel the same. Our request is as much for your own good as it is for ours. And we do intend to help your people in a not insignificant manner. But we would not interfere in your war with the Minbari for the same reason we will not interfere now...because confronting the Minbari is certain suicide. Look at what happened to you. Your species is not the first. Before you came the Wen'dan Horde. Before them were the Garmak. Now the Drazi may face that fate as well. The Abbai will not follow down the same stream."

Levitt and Lochley shared a surprised glance. "I had not realized the Minbari had done this before," Elizabeth said.

"Most of the younger races are unaware. These things have happened over centuries, and many forget. The Minbari have been in space for a very long time. But the Abbai have as well, and we pay attention. Once roused, the Minbari are an implacable foe. It would have been best for all if your people had listened to the Centauri Ambassador."

These words created an awkward silence, until Sandra asked, "What became of those others? The Garmak and the…."

"The Wen'dan Horde. I do not know exactly what became of the Horde, only that they have not been seen since the Minbari finished with them. The Garmak however...they intentionally attacked the Minbari, believing they were more than strong enough to face any foe, the fools." She said this with a weighted look at the two humans. "The Minbari destroyed their ships and their colonies and their empire. They chased them all the way back to their homeworld, then bombarded it until not a trace of industry or technology remained. Until the Garmak would be forced to spend the next thousand years trying to rebuild and regain the stars."

"So the Minbari left them alive?" Elizabeth asked hopefully. "They're still out there rebuilding their world?"

"No," Kalika said. "A new and rising race, the Centauri, came upon their world and enslaved them. They were spread across the new Centauri Empire, until they could no longer maintain a viable breeding population in any given location, and quickly slid into extinction. I suppose it is possible that there may be some hidden enclave of Garmak out there...the descendants of their own fleet of escapees...but I very much doubt it."

"So you don't think our odds of survival are very high?" Sandra asked.

"No," the Ambassador replied quietly. Another silence ensued.

Finally, Elizabeth asked, "You said that the request was for our own good, Ambassador? And that you would try to help us in some manner?"

"Yes. You see, the Minbari have beaten you here. They are ahead of you and spreading out, attempting to find you in any place that you might hide. It is mostly scout ships, though there are a good number of frigates, and even the occasional capital ship. They are operating singly for now, but there are still quite a few of them, and more will be on the way. We passed a Sharlin Warcruiser on our way to this system. They are slowed as they spend ships surrounding and cutting off the Drazi, but soon they will be operating in pairs and trios and even task groups. You will soon be unable to hide, humans. Continuing on your current course assures your destruction."

"As I said, Ambassador," Lochley responded cautiously, "we are not heading to the Matriarchate."

"You are not listening, humans," Kalika said with exasperation. "The Minbari are not just in the Matriarchate. They are everywhere in this part of space. They go where ever they want, and none will try to deny them. What happened to the Drazi and to the Narn ensures that." Lochley and Levitt shared another glance, but before they could ask about the Narn, the Ambassador continued. "It does not matter where you go...the Abbai and Balosians, the Hurr and Grome, the dead worlds around the former Dilgar territories, even the Hyach and Brakiri; all have Minbari forces searching their territory. They are spreading out spinward and coreward, searching for you all the way to the Tal-Kona'Sha border. They are respectful. They are even friendly. But they do not take 'no' for an answer. To be blunt, I am astonished that you did not run into them on your way here. Obviously you did not, as even one of their weakest ships would likely have slaughtered much of your fleet."

Elizabeth glanced at Levitt again, then said cautiously, "We were unaware of much of that, and thank you for the information. But we are running out of places to run. What about these Tal-Kona'Sha you mentioned? We have not heard of them before. Might they help us?"

"They might help you into the next life, if that is your goal. Better to throw yourselves on the mercy of the Minbari. They are far older and more powerful than the Minbari, and far less caring and merciful than the Vorlons. There is no bargaining with them, no reasoning with them, and certainly no sneaking through their territory. I am not certain they would even consider you to be sentient. They are Middle-Born, and that is the last I will say on _that_ topic." The Abbai female took a breath. "If you want my advice, then I urge you to turn around. Perhaps this will catch the Minbari by surprise. Drive quickly through Narn space and seek refuge with the Centauri. You have always been on good terms with them. Perhaps they are crazy enough to hide you."

"They are not," Sandra said bitterly. "That was one of the first destinations we tried."

"Then I find it unlikely you will survive. However, the Natar has instructed that I aid you." Kalika reached into her robes and pulled out a data crystal. "This crystal contains the entirety of compiled hyperspace knowledge of the Abbai people. Everything we have gathered over the last four hundred cheen. I believe that is eight of your centuries. Every known jumpgate and beacon. Every minor route and hidden path. Every lost world and broken connection of which we know. There are few governments out there that wouldn't gladly kill for this information. We give it to you freely. Perhaps somewhere in there you will find a way to survive. But it will not be by continuing on your current heading."

Elizabeth gingerly accepted the crystal. "Thank you, Ambassador Qwal'Mizra. This is indeed a treasure. Please do not take my next statement as a lack of gratitude. You could very well have turned us away. But is there truly nothing more you can do? Now that the Minbari have attacked a member of the League, aren't you bound to stand together and confront them? To support each other? Wasn't that the lesson of the Dilgar? The Drazi were willing to stand up. As I understand it, the Vree also took a chance, sending a fleet to help Earth, though they must not have arrived in time. Perhaps united you could turn back these Minbari monsters."

"The lesson of the Dilgar…" Kalika mused. "It is indeed because of your actions against the Dilgar that we are aiding you now. And just like in that time, we are all too afraid to stand together. If it was the Centauri or the Narn or even you humans, we would stand as one. But not against the Minbari. And even if we did, I cannot see it leading to anything but the annihilation of every member of the League that participates. The Minbari are not an enemy you can fight. They are a force of nature. Perhaps if we Abbai and the Hyach and the Brakiri and the Yolu all opened up our databases and shared our technologies with each other, we might have a chance. But just like every other race, we all guard our secrets jealously. Even in the darkest hours of the Dilgar invasion, there was no discussion of a technology release. Shields, artificial gravity, or advanced weaponry; we all insist on retaining whatever advantages we can, in case monsters ever come for us. And when the Minbari are picking us off one by one, who will save us then, now that your Earth Alliance is gone?"

"But it is precisely that attitude that which may doom you. Your chances to survive and thrive are far greater as a community than as individuals."

"I agree with you, Commander. But it is just not how things are done. The League of Non Aligned Worlds makes no provisions for such things. We will not stand together in such a way. No one but the Drazi will stand up for you."

"But the Vree…"

"Do not be too enamored of the Vree, humans," Kalika said tersely. "They did indeed send a fleet in support of you. And when they arrived after your forces had been destroyed, they were rapidly surrounded by the Minbari. In order to save themselves, they declared for the Minbari. They denounced your race in order to convince the Minbari that they were not your allies. I have heard rumors that Minbari required them to bombard several regions of your Earth, in order to prove themselves. I have been unable to substantiate that fact, however."

"Monsters," Elizabeth repeated herself in outrage.

"No, dear. The Vree were merely frightened children, trying to survive. Or perhaps you meant the Minbari. But, despite your experiences, they are not monsters either. They are actually quite nice people. The vast majority of the time they are a force for peace and order. It was they who brought peace when the Horde was rampaging through known space. It is also said that they fought and defeated a great Darkness, though that was before even _my_ species had made it into space. Perhaps the Yolu could tell you about that. Regardless, the Minbari are not monsters. They simply let their arrogance and their egos get the better of them. Much the same has been said about humanity."

"Do _not_ compare us to them." Sandra hissed. "We would never do this."

"I have seen your history, my dear. I know better."

Elizabeth didn't like this line of discussion at all, but a new thought had been growing in the back of her mind. Something the Ambassador said had sparked an idea. She cleared her throat and looped the discussion back around to how it had begun. "Perhaps there is another way you can help us, Ambassador. And help yourselves in the process."

"I am listening."

"You are right. No one ever gives technology away but sometimes it is traded. The EA traded for a number of technologies in the war, though I am bound to not reveal with whom. Your people are peaceful, and value a strong defense. Your shields offer you an unmatched defense, but they are not invincible. Perhaps I could offer you a way to enhance your defenses. Our interceptor technology is as good as any out there, and better than most. We also have a system we call the e-web which reduces energy weapon effectiveness. I would be willing to trade one or the other to you for your full knowledge base on your shields." Sandra looked a bit shocked by the offer, but Elizabeth knew she would see the value.

Kalika appraised them both. She was clearly interested and thoughtful. But then her features changed, and Lochley knew her answer before she spoke it. "Reluctantly, I cannot agree. Our shields are indeed powerful. And very distinctive as well. Only the Brakiri have anything close. As I noted before, I do not put much faith in your odds. When the Minbari catch and destroy you, they may go through your records. This information would be clear evidence that we had assisted you. Our maps are just maps, but our shields cannot come from anywhere else. This would almost certainly bring down the exact repercussions I am trying to avoid."

"We could set up the database to purge, or even rig it to explode, should the Minbari capture it," Sandra said hopefully.

"I cannot trust that. It is too great a risk. Besides, the information would not help you. Our shields are gravitic based. Without a strong understanding of gravitics and artificial gravity infrastructure, you would not be able to replicate them. And before you ask, no I cannot trade you our knowledge of artificial gravity either, for exactly the same reasons. Any species which has artificial gravity has some distinctive aspects of their own version. The data would again lead back to us. And, again, you do not have the knowledge to use it. Even if we gave you everything, it would be years before you could utilize it even if you still had the resources of the entire Earth Alliance behind you. As you stand now, it would be decades, if not centuries. No, this is not a good deal for either of us."

"As Commander Levitt indicated, we could put safeguards in place."

"And as I said, Commander, it is too much of a risk. However…" Her face took on a thoughtful cant. "However, I might have a better deal for you. Our powered defense also comes in two aspects. Our shields you are familiar with. However, most are far less familiar with our Particle Impeders. Do you know anything about them, Commander?"

"Very little."

"The system is very similar to your interceptor. However, where your system is all but useless against electromagnetic weaponry, countering those weapons is the primary function of our Impeders. It is little understood, but in our battles against the Centauri, our Impeders were actually of more use to us in direct combat than our shields; which, similar to your interceptors, are not much good against EM weapons. And since the main difference between our system and yours is in the type of projectiles employed, it should be possible to insist to the Minbari that you developed the technology on your own."

Lochley glanced at Levitt, who gave her an encouraging nod. She turned back to the Ambassador. "Alright. We're interested."

"It is within my authority to trade to you the Particle Impeder technology. In return, I will require all information on your interceptors and e-web system, and your promise to come no closer to our territory."

Lochley was taken aback. "All three? Isn't that a bit greedy, Ambassador? Are you profiteering on us now?"

The Abbai sighed, "That is the price. I doubt you will find better. No matter what, this is still a risk for my people. And if the Minbari do track the technology back to us, I want to be able to argue that the offer was simply too good to pass up, and could in no way be considered us supporting you."

Lochley met her eyes for a long moment, then sighed. "Alright, Ambassador. I'll have to go back and gather the information for you, but I do believe you have yourself a deal."  
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For once, there was dead silence as the Captains met. They each sat reviewing the charts and data with which Levitt and Lochley had returned. Finally, Sheridan looked up. "I should be quite perturbed with you two. You had no right to unilaterally make diplomatic agreements in the name of the fleet, much less to give away sensitive military technology. But, I've got to say, I think the returns were more than worth it. A good officer seizes opportunity, and this was a big one. Well done, Liz, Sandra. Very well done."

Nodding to acknowledge the compliment, Levitt added, "The list of all of their sightings of Minbari vessels should prove particularly useful in helping us to get out of this noose they seem to have surrounded us with."

"The real prize, though," Sinclair stepped in, "are those Particle Impeders. It would have been nice get ahold of their shield technology, but I don't blame them for keeping that a state secret. Earthgov certainly would have."

"The Impeders are impressive," Garibaldi allowed, "but we won't be able to use them any time soon."

"Why not?" Bester asked.

"Because it's completely incompatible with the systems currently mounted on our ships or Starfuries. It's basically a fancy chaff round. A very high tech, laughing at the laws of physics, chaff round; but still just a chaff round. Maybe if we were mounting railguns or even the old BilPro guns we could just design a modified round and go, but the pulse, plasma and laser weapons the fleet's armed with right now just don't work that way. We'll have to build new guns from scratch. Then we'll have to decide if we want to swap those guns in for some of our current interceptor batteries. That would improve our defense against the weapons the Minbari use, at the expense of our ability to defend against everything else. The alternative is to try to find the real estate on the hulls to mount the weapons as additions. Then you have to work out mounting, fire arcs, and power runs. And that's all in addition to trying to integrate them into the defense nets and system logic. At best you're talking about months of work. Years is more likely."

"Still, Bester said, "I'd rather have the tech for use eventually, than to not have it at all."

Michael stopped and closed his mouth, thinking for a second. He gave a short, reluctant nod to Bester, acknowledging the point.

"That's all for the future," Sinclair said into the ensuing silence. "We have much more immediate concerns. What do we do now? Obviously, the Dilgar territories are out. The Ambassador even named them as places the Minbari are searching. Does anyone disagree on that point?"

No one did. Levitt cleared her throat. "It seems pretty obvious to me where we should be heading. Ambassador Qwal'Mizra gave us invaluable information. A race that even the Minbari can't bully. A race that can stop them dead. We head for the borders of these Tal-Kona'Sha, these middle born, whatever that means. We get there and then we beg or buy our way through to the far side. Once there, we'll have finally lost the Minbari for good. I doubt those people would be much concerned about a fleet of refugees, not if they are more powerful than the Minbari. But a Minbari fleet, on the other hand, that's another matter altogether. They aren't likely to allow such a force within their borders. Hell, they might decide to stop the Minbari just to show them who the top dog is."

"I'd love to see that," Bester noted. Lochley hesitated for a moment, then nodded, throwing her assent behind her two allies. However, it was clear that others present disagreed.

"Didn't you just commit to Ambassador Qwal'Mizra that we _wouldn't_ be coming any closer?" Jeff asked. "We can't go around violating diplomatic agreements."

Levitt looked thoughtful, then said, "The Ambassador milked that agreement for all it was worth. They certainly got more out of it than we did. Two defensive systems for one, and a restriction on our travel? I think our tech payment ought to be enough. Besides, we can get to Tal-Kona'Sha space without going through Abbai territory."

"They drove a bargain for what they felt were the relative values of the offerings by each side," Sheridan argued. "If you didn't like the terms, you shouldn't have agreed to them. And given the fact that Abbai are the masters of defensive systems, they may very well be correct that they were giving us as much as they were getting technically, especially when you factor in the risk they were taking. Remember what's happening to the Drazi? Besides, they also gave us these hyperspace maps."

"Which she said she was going to give to us anyway," Levitt countered. "In memory of what we did during the Dilgar war. But, let's discuss the core issue here. We can't afford to give up this opportunity, not for sentimentality. The fate of the fleet, of the human race, may well depend upon it. We're out of options, out of places to go. Besides, what the Abbai don't know won't hurt them. We go around their territory, as fast as we can, so we can avoid the bulk of Minbari forces headed this way. Then it's a race to the Tal-Kona'Sha border. If we win that race, then we're finally safe."

"What if they refuse us passage?" Sheridan asked. The Ambassador seemed to think they were much more likely to smite us than to listen to anything we might have to say."

"Everyone has their price."

"The Centauri didn't."

Sinclair cleared his throat. "After what the Drazi did...after what they _paid_ to help us...we can't just go double crossing other alien species who are trying to help us, no matter the level of that help. We made a deal. We need to stick by it. Otherwise, who would be willing to help us in the future? Would we even be worthy of that aid? General Lefcourt once told me that this effort would require us to toss away our lives, fortunes, and sacred honor. After working with the Drazi, I no longer agree. I think it may be honor, that of ourselves and others like the Drazi and Abbai, that helps us to survive."

Lochley looked torn. "Did you have another suggestion for where we could head? Sandra's right. It seems like we're out of places to go."

"Actually," Sheridan said, "the General left us three options. We've only crossed off two of them."

"Head rimward?" Bester asked. "Captain, I hope that you are joking. That would mean we've been going the _wrong_ way this entire time. It would require us to retrace out steps...right back into the face of all of those Minbari forces coming up behind us. It's suicide."

Both Lochley and Levitt looked horrified at the idea, and more than prepared to fight it. Sheridan held up his hands for patience, mentally cursing again this ridiculous council and his need to justify his reasoning to his subordinates. "Just hear me out. We won't be going backwards. Instead, we run down through the League. That is the area where the Abbai maps seem to the the most accurate. In case you hadn't noticed, those charts show low usage hyperspace tracks, hidden beacons, smuggler's routes...everything we need to go unnoticed by the locals, much less the Minbari. And they're not expecting us to head in that direction. They already 'know' we're going coreward. According to your report, the Ambassador said it herself; the Minbari are spreading out coreward and spinward. That puts Minbari forces moving around us in three directions. Heading rimward may very well be the only direction in which we can perform a breakout. And if we can, we may very well give them the slip."

"And what if we don't?" Lochley asked. "We'd be moving closer to their forces occupying the EA. And even if we somehow get past them, what then? There's nothing out that way. The only thing that made it attractive in the beginning was that it would be a shorter trip, and we would be heading directly away from the Minbari advance. Neither of those things is true now."

"Even the Minbari only have so many ships. They can't guard their own territories, continue their conquest of the EA, or occupy it if they've already taken everything, then wage war on the Drazi _and_ expend ships searching the Narn and League territories. Not well, anyway. They'll have to concentrate their search, and Ambassador Qwal'Mizra told us exactly where they are concentrating...where they expect us to go. As Sun Tzu said, 'Attack where your enemies are not prepared; go where they do not expect.' The Minbari will never expect us to turn around. If we can slip past their patrols in this area, we may be free and clear...at least for a while. And even if they do attempt to expand into those areas of the League, they'll be stretched very thing. We just proved we can deal with their lighter units if we catch them one or maybe two at a time."

"Don't get cocky, John." Lochley said. "The Minbari still have a lot of advantages over us. We should avoid fighting them whenever possible. We'll lose a lot of people. I don't even want to _think_ about what would happen if we had to take on another Sharlin."

"We won't get away if we're not prepared to take risks, Liz. The other reason we should head rimward is because there are places to go. The Abbai maps show territories beyond what we were aware of. Peoples and territories beyond the Koulani and Ch'lonas. The Tokati, Trakallan, Moradi, and Tikar. There seem to be unclaimed worlds in this area as well. Perhaps someplace we can settle, if we truly can give the Minbari the slip."

Sinclair was reviewing his copies of the maps again. "A lot of the unclaimed worlds seem to be around this danger zone. It's marked as 'avoid at all costs.' The hyperspace routes to it are marked as 'restricted.' Seems like maybe something we would want to avoid."

John looked and found the area Jeff was referencing on his own copy of the map. "This place called Z'ha'dum? It's probably some group just like the Tal-Kona'Sha. They might be able to provide us with the same kind of barrier you were looking for, Sandra. And the worlds around that area aren't marked as restricted. Besides, there's plenty of territory further away. We can decide when we get there."

"I'm calling the vote," Sinclair informed them. "All those in favor of heading coreward towards the Tal-Kona'Sha?" Levitt and Bester raised their hands immediately. Lochley was a bit slower, considering, but she joined them. "All those for heading rimward, perhaps towards Z'ha'dum?" Jeff asked again. Both he and John raised their hands.

Garibaldi spoke up. "I've got to tell you, Captain; this time I agree with Levitt and Lochley and, God help me, Mr. Bester. I think the Tal-Kona'Sha are the nearest and best option, agreements be damned." He sighed, then looked directly at Lochley. "But you still have my vote, John, because I understand how the damned _chain of command_ works."

"Very dramatic, Mr. Garibaldi," Bester intoned. "You must be very skilled at 'Good cop, Bad cop.'"

"Maybe someday you'll find out."

"Unlikely."

All eyes now turned to Gideon. "I'm getting kind of tired of being the deciding vote," he said in exasperation.

"Then maybe you should make up your mind faster and get on record before everyone else is done," Garibaldi chided him. "Or do what I do, what you're supposed to do, and just follow your commanding officer."

"Or," Lochley broke in, "you could remember what's at stake, and what you...what everyone, stands to lose if we get this wrong."

Gideon looked at both of them in exasperation. "There's one aspect of this that you all seem to have forgotten. This war started in the first place because we were all so full of ourselves that we didn't bother to listen when those with a bit more experience told us we were playing with fire. One of those groups just told us again that we're about to be playing with fire, and this time we won't just get burned, we'll get immolated. I'd like to think that even people as thick skulled as Earth Force officers can learn their lesson. That we can figure out a way not to be blinded by our arrogance. The Abbai were kind enough to give us this warning. I suggest we pay heed." He looked up at Sheridan. "Ok, Captain. You've got my vote. Make it count."  
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 **Komac, Brakiri Territory - Exodus Fleet - February 2249**

"Report," Commander Sandra Levitt ordered.

"Transition to normal space successful," Janice replied. "Scanning...we nailed the transition. We emerged directly behind the outermost gas giant in the system. We should be obscured from anyone deeper in system."

"Send the signal." Janice nodded and activated the preset communication. Moments later ships began spilling out of the still open vortex, while four more bloomed as all of the warships punched their way into normal space, ensuing that the fleet could make transition as rapidly as possible.

The plan was once again to perform a rapid turn around. Get in, perform minimal service, and move on before trouble or the Minbari could turn up. They had tried the tactic many times before. It was not always successful, but was more often than not.

This time, it was not. "We're getting a solid return on a full squadron of Minbari fighters headed this way," Kathway reported. "They must have been orbiting within the planet's rings." Apparently the Minbari had gotten wise to their tactic of staying at the edges of systems and hiding behind planets. A couple of flights of Nials waiting in orbit wasn't a coincidence. They must have been left here, just on the possibility the fleet would show up. Sandra wondered if they had just gotten lucky by seeding the planet with the most noticeable mass shadow, or if they had actually left fighters at every single planet in the system. Either way, the fleet was probably going to have to change its system entry protocols.

"Time to intercept?"

"We're a little farther out than we had planned to be. Just lucky, I guess. That'll give us just over ten minutes before they enter firing range."

Sheridan's image appeared on her screen, broadcast to all of the Captains. "Launch all fighters. Sinclair, form up your fighter group and get those Minbari out of my sky."

"Captain," Levitt, interrupted, "there's no need to fight. Most of the fleet is still in hyper. We can easily turn around the rest and be gone before the Minbari get here. Those fighters won't be able to follow us into hyperspace. We can move on and perform repairs in the next system."

"And we're liable to lose civilian vessels in the process, Commander. Many of those craft are in need of maintenance now. I won't accept those losses. Twelve Nials don't pose much of a threat to us. Not anymore. Besides, I won't leave a hostile force with knowledge of our location at our back. Especially if we have the possibility of preventing them from reporting that knowledge to their superiors."

"Captain, we may have gained some new abilities, but the Minbari fighters are still demonstrably superior in almost every aspect. If we fight them, we'll take losses, unnecessarily. Besides, there's something off about the sensor returns. It's just too…"

"Commander," he interrupted her sharply, "I am in command of combat operations. Launch your birds. Now. That's an order." So saying, he cut the connection.  
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"Suck vacuum, Bonehead!" Ironheart crowed, as another Minbari fighter imploded under his guns. Susan repressed a surge of irritation before it could feed back to him through their link. It was his third kill of the battle, and she hadn't managed a single one. She had this last one lined up, but he had snatched the kill right out from under her. He was really on fire today, cementing himself at the top of the leaderboards.

Commander Sinclair had recently announced that Minbari kills would only count as three for high level telepaths, those who were coming to be known as Psi-fighters, and those with one as a wingman. They would still count as five for those unaided by telepathy. That had thrown the leader boards into disarray, but Ironheart and Susan, as well as Commanders Bester and Sinclair, were still well out in advance of the competition. Wise Ass was coming up fast, though. She had at least one kill in this battle already.

"The remaining Minbari fighters are pulling back," Sinclair notified them over comms. "All Starfuries are ordered to pursue. Let's wipe them out before they can escape." Susan and Ironheart laid in a pursuit course and went to max thrust.

"And another!" Ironheart shouted, bagging his fourth.

 _How does he do it?_ Susan looked around, this time unable to mask her spike of irritation. She heard Ironheart chuckle in response, which really just ticked her off even more. "Aren't we getting a little far from the fleet? Do we really need to give chase with the entire fighter group for what's left of the Minbari?"

"They'll call us if they need us. Commander Sinclair is just using numbers to give us the best correlation of forces possible. It's the best way to get this over quickly and minimize losses."

"Makes sense."  
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"What the hell? That doesn't make any sense," Hangar Bay Chief Callista Sandusky said to herself, looking around as the automated docking sirens began to wail. "Who the hell would be flying between ships during a fraggin' battle? Jerry," she said calling out loudly, "are we expecting company?"

"The boards are clear, Chief."

"Frag it! Nice of them to let us know we need to prepare for company." She strode to the overwatch to get a look at the shuttle pulling into the bay. Eye's widening in shock, she turned to shout a warning. Before she could finish drawing the breath, Callisa Sandusky was torn apart by green fire.  
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The Midway shuddered, and Lieutenant Commander Gideon looked up with concern. "Report," he called to his first officer.

"Unknown, Captain," Lieutenant Hong Se Chenshan responded. Hong was an old friend of Gideon's. He was proud of his Chinese heritage, but even more proud of the fact that his family had served in the Earth Force for six generations. "I have damage indicators lighting up for Hangar Bay 1, though."

Memories of the hangar bay accident which had killed so many of his friends and an entire squadron of pilots flitted through his mind. "Get some additional damage control parties down there, pronto. Get on the horn and see if anyone down there can tell us what's happening."

Hong held up a hand. "One moment, Captain. Getting a call from the hangar now...say again. _Say again_... I'm sorry, Captain. The caller said something about the Minbari, and then the line was cut off."

"It couldn't have been Minbari fire. Those fighters are too far out at this point, and our Starfuries have them pretty well under control. They must not know what caused the problem, and are assuming it is combat related. Stay in contact with the damage control parties you sent down, see if they can give us a better idea of what is going on."

"Captain, I've got additional damage codes coming up now in the corridors and compartments surrounding the hangar bay," he said in consternation.

"Cascading damage? That's usually associated with fire. Scramble some fire suppression parties. They can back up damage control if there's no actual fire."

"One second, Captain," he said when his console beeped again. "The security station in that section is checking in." Raising his hand to his earpiece, he said, "report." He nodded and glanced up at Gideon. "It's a fire, Cap..." His eyes darted back to his boards as he cut himself off mid word. "Wait, say again. Say again. _Please repeat_." He listened intently for a few moments, then turned with a look of concern. "Captain, the line was bad, and we lost the connection. But...Captain, I would swear he said they were _taking_ fire, right before the line went dead."

Gideon froze. _It can't be. That's not possible_. He keyed his console to activate the ship wide comms. "Intruder alert. I repeat, intruder alert. We have hostiles on board. All crew; arm yourselves, lock down, and shelter in place. All security personnel to secure your areas of responsibility. Marines...break out the heavy ordinance and await further orders."

Both Garibaldi and Sinclair were off the ship. Whatever he was going to do, he was on his own. Turning back to Hong, he ordered, "Contact the Nova and Lexington, request they each send contingents of marines to back us up. Identify any areas of the ship which have been compromised by the Minbari and seal them off. Draw security personnel from non threatened parts of the ship if you have to. You have the bridge." Gideon stood up and strapped on his personal PPG.

"Captain, where are you going?"

"I'm heading down to link up with the Marines. We have some vermin to clear off my ship."  
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Hiai'i Kollann looked down out of the ventilation grate. A quartet of human security personnel were firing their PPGs wildly around the corner behind which they hid, trying desperately to stop his Warriors. From his vantage point, Kollan could see those Warriors. They sat calmly under cover, watching the wild fusillade with amusement as it flew past them. Kollan snorted silently to himself. The humans were both without honor and without skill. His Warriors wouldn't be in much more danger of being hit if they stood up and bowed to the humans. Still, the faster they moved, the more likely their mission was to succeed. Kollan had no intention of failing, not least because it would assure his death and those of his Warriors. He had lead four files of troops onto this vessel, and so far his casualties had been ridiculously light. He was starting to see the beginnings of real resistance though. Best to keep moving before they became bogged down and possibly encircled.

Smashing out the grate, he kicked off, shooting down directly into the midst of the humans, his Den'bok extending at precisely the right time. Both ends slammed into a human head, rendering both men unconscious and sending them flying in opposite directions. Many Minbari were uncomfortable in zero gravity conditions, but he was _very_ well trained. He rolled just before slamming into the floor, planting both his feet upon it and kicking off again, surging upward with thighs and back and arms, bringing the Den'bok up under the chin of the next human. His head slammed backwards with such violence, Kollann heard the snap of neck vertebrae cracking. Continuing the motion fluidly, he raised both feet and fired them into the chest of the final human, sending him tumbling into the corridor, where the far more precise fire of his Warriors' Sha'nar fusion rifles cut the man to pieces. From breaching the grate to the final kick, the whole action was over in less than two seconds. These humans were ridiculously fragile, in addition to all of their other shortcomings.

Moving efficiently to dispatch the two unconscious humans, he called out to the First File leader. "Gor, advance with your warriors. Secure the next intersection, and break anything which looks...breakable." The Warriors charged ahead to the next intersection... where three of them were blown backwards in a welter of gore and a flurry of PPG bursts, explosives, and even old fashioned kinetic projectiles. The advance stalled. Kollan looked around for the Gor, intending to chastise the Warrior for allowing his file to fall into chaos. But then he saw the Minbari's head floating past. Cursing, he took charge of the file himself, tossing a grav-grenade around the corner. It was those damned Marines. His warriors had tangled with them twice so far, and taken casualties each time. The Hiai'i was quite convinced they weren't human...or, at least, they were some bizarre subspecies spin off. Normal humans simply weren't capable of doing what those Marines could do. _Oh well. We shall eradicate them all in the end. We are Minbari, and not even the Marine subspecies can stand before us_. He heard the grenade detonate, and he lead the Warriors into the attack.  
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"Sir, may I suggest you grab a heavier weapon?" the Marine Corporal asked respectfully.

"Thanks, but I'm good with my sidearm." Gideon had made his way to the nearest of three armories maintained by the Marines on his vessel. He had found a single fire team guarding the location, but the Minbari incursion was still a ways off. No doubt the Marines intended to stop their advance before they got this far. A good idea. Moments after Gideon arrived another squad of Marines had charged in and begun arming and equipping themselves. He intended to link up with and assist them, and use them as a personal guard if necessary, but he had no intention of attempting to command them. He knew his limits, and he was no infantry commander.

"Captain, that little PPG won't do much more than tickle a Minbari. If that's all you're going to carry in, best if you keep it holstered."

"Alright, Corporal, I'll take your advice." Gideon walked back through the racks of weapons. The many empty slots attested to the number of Marines who had arrived earlier and already left to enter the fray. No doubt the Corporal was expecting him to grab a standard issue Auricon EF-749/AC heavy PPG rifle. Every Marine was a rifleman, that's just the way they thought. Matt made a different selection.

The Corporal blanched when he saw what Gideon was carrying. "Are you sure about that, Captain? Have you ever used one of those before?"

Gideon glanced down at the EF-36V BilPro shotgun, manufactured by Westlake Armaments, cradled in his arms. "I used one in Basic Cadet Training. I'm no Marine, but I got pretty comfortable with it."

"Alright, Captain," the Marine said with barely concealed reluctance. "The squad is ready to move out. Just make sure you know where you're pointing that thing."

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Hiai'i Kollann sped down another corridor, past the crumpled bodies of the Marines who had been guarding it. Kollan saw one of those bodies twitch, and he swiftly drew his dagger and slit its throat. Red human blood bubbled out, forming large globules that went spinning off into the already cluttered gravityless environment. Just another part of the battlefield.

Behind him, his Warriors fanned out to either side of the corridor. The heavy metal doors parted reluctantly before the power of their fusion rifles. The occupants hiding like raalon inside the rooms beyond were far easier to break. He barely noticed their screams and sporadic return fire. Instead, he was focused on the intersection ahead, where his Warriors had stalled. A moderately sized contingent of Marines was trying to make a stand, and laying down some heavy fire. More of his Warriors had fallen.

He primed another grav-grenade...they were starting to run low...and hurled it. It bounced precisely off of the bulkhead, crossed the hallway, bounced off of another bulkhead, and detonated right in the midst of the densest concentration of Marines. "Attack!" he shouted, charging forward again."  
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Gideon followed the Marine squad around a corner and into a scene from hell. A Minbari gravitic grenade had gone off amongst a group of Marines, and the wild gravity fluctuations it generated were tossing men about like ragdolls. They slammed from floor to ceiling and back again, their gear, weapons, and even limbs being jerked this way and that, then slammed back into them with bone shattering force. AS the Marines bled from gashes, penetrations, protruding bones, or even impalements, their blood too was sent flying this way and that. The effect seemed to go on for an eternity.

The Minbari didn't wait for it to end. They charged out to overrun the remainder of the human defensive position. They hadn't seen Gideon's squad, and they charged into the open, expecting speed and overwhelming firepower to keep them safe from any attack. The Marines around him fired their Auricons into the Minbari flank. Then Gideon opened up.

The BilPro Shotgun was a bit of a misnomer. It was indeed an evolution of shotgun technology, but the jump had been revolutionary rather than incremental. Over a century ago military shotguns, just like all military slug throwers, had switched from cartridged gunpowder to Binary Liquid Propellent. Two normally inert chemicals, stored in separate tanks, were combined in the weapon's chamber, forming a highly explosive compound which was then ignited, propelling the projectile forward. This had numerous advantages. It allowed for the power and range of the shot to be adjusted. It prevented bullets from "cooking off" as was possible with the earlier cartridges. It was considerably more powerful than gunpowder. Most importantly, though, was the fact that it allowed for the elimination of the cartridge, and was far lighter and more space efficient than the cartridge, powder, primer combination. This allowed the weapons to substantially increase the ammunition carried, five to ten fold.

However, as the technology had advanced, the chemicals had become more and more powerful. BilPro cannon were installed on some of Earth Force's first combat spacecraft, driving this trend. Extremely high power and miniscule propellent volumes were causing substantial issues when combined with the old fashioned technology of shot or pellets. These problems could and would eventually be solved, but not before one frustrated engineer said _Frag it!_ and did away with the projectiles altogether. Instead, his shotgun fired...more propellant.

The current EF-36V BilPro shotgun mixed tiny amounts of its two chemical propellants to fire much larger amounts of those chemicals separately but simultaneously. The weapon literally coated it's target in explosive chemicals, which mixed upon impact and detonated a millisecond later. The weapon had very limited range, and was all but useless against vehicles or buildings with any significant amount of armor. But against unarmored or lightly armored objects or personnel, it was absolutely devastating.

Five Minbari were blown to bloody meat by Gideon's first salvo. The rest fell into chaos, ceasing their advance as they dove for cover. Their return fire was sporadic, but still more than deadly. Those damned laser rifles of theirs were ridiculously powerful. Gideon found cover behind a half melted hatch, and commed for backup. He continued to fire upon the Minbari positions, hoping to keep them suppressed until more forces could arrive.  
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Hiai'i Kollann forced down his rage. Things had taken a turn for the worse, but he could still salvage this mission. One of his files had been cut off while assaulting the bridge. They had been almost entirely eliminated, but as far as he knew they had been successful in driving off the bridge crew, which meant that this ship was no longer truly under human control. His other three files had taken significant casualties from the ship's Marine contingent, but they had been successfully slaughtering their way across the ship, and even that resistance was now starting to falter. One of those three files was currently pinned down and taking heavy fire. He was leading his two mobile files through the maze of corridors, attempting to flank the Marine squads which had his third file pinned.

He rounded another corner, and found the Marine squad less than a dozen steps ahead of him, at the edge of a large open area. He dropped his fusion rifle, letting it swing from the strap over his shoulder, and extended his Den'bok. With a joyous battle cry, he leapt to the attack.

The Marines had noticed him and spun their weapons towards him. The first two were cut down by laser fire coming from behind him. And then they were amongst the humans. He snapped two human neck with rapid sweeps of his pike. Looking forward, beyond the humans, he realized he was too late. The last member of his third file lay dying before him. With a cry of rage, he spun back to the humans, to find one turning on him, trying to aim a very large gun at his Warriors. It took him only a moment to recognize the uniform. It was the Captain of this vessel. Killing him would bring at least _some_ honor. With a mix of anger and joy, he knocked the large weapon from the human's hands. "Prepare to die, human. You face a Den'bok master."  
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 _Well, shit_ , Gideon thought, _I'm fragged_. He grabbed desperately for his holstered PPG, scrambling backwards in the hope of putting some distance between himself and the Minbari. He wasn't fast enough. The Minbari charged forward, swinging his staff in a hideously fast and precise strike that would no doubt cave in Gideon's skull. In zero-G, ducking would only pull his feet off of the floor, so he jumped instead, surging upwards with everything he had. The staff connected with his left arm, just above the elbow, and he heard the bone snap as he was tossed to the right. Pain lanced up his arm, through his neck, and tunnelled his vision with blinding pain. He didn't allow any of that to slow him down.

Continuing his draw, he fired from the hip, placing three PPG pulses into the Minbari's chest. He then smacked into the far wall, knocking the PPG from his hand. The Warrior howled and tumbled backwards. _I guess it did more than just tickle,_ he thought. But then, with growing dismay, he saw the Minbari pick himself up. Still gripping his staff, he stared directly at Gideon.

"A valiant attempt human, but in vain. _Now_ you die."

Once again the tip of the Den'bok came whistling at Gideon's head...and was stopped dead on the blade of a sword...a Mameluke sword. Though it was still an official and acceptable part of a Marine's dress uniform, Gideon could count on one hand the number of Marines he had ever seen actually wearing one. _Well, I suppose now I'll have to use both_. He had _certainly_ never expected to see one used in combat. The wielder of that sword was even more unusual than the sword itself. Bearing the insignia of a Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant, the man appeared to Gideon to be of Hawaiian descent, though Gideon had a hard time distinguishing between the peoples of the various Pacific islands. The Gunny carried the sword in his right hand, and an Auricon heavy PPG rifle in his left. Both looked like toys in his massive hands. Gideon assumed he had to be at least two and a quarter meters tall, and he was two hundred kilograms if he was a gram.

Even the Minbari looked surprised, though he hesitated not a moment. He instantly switched his attacks to the Marine. The Minbari was blindingly fast. The Gunny was trying to attack with both sword and rifle, and the Minbari was pushing him back. Every time the Auricon was nearly aligned for a shot, the Minbari, clearly an officer of some sort, knocked it away and went on the attack. When the Gunny backpedaled, trying to open up some space, the Minbari surged ahead, keeping the fight to close quarters. He circled the Gunny, parrying every sword strike, knocking away the Auricon time and time again, and getting in the occasional strike to the Gunny's massive frame.

Most of a platoon of Marines had followed the Master Gunnery Sergeant into the fight, and they now spread out and took cover within the large open area, clearly a maintenance and support space. A massive firefight erupted with the remaining Minbari troops, who had fully regained their organization and unit cohesion. The Gunny and Minbari officer stood in the midst of it all, fighting viciously in an anachronistic melee. No fire was directed their way, as neither side wanted to hit their own leader. Gideon certainly appreciated the lack of fire, using the shadow of their fight to retrieve his BilPro shotgun and dive for more permanent cover. He nearly screamed as he bounced off of his broken arm, but gained control of his momentum and pulled himself behind the cover of a large column. Firing the weapon with only one hand was going to be challenging, but he was certainly going to do his best.

Slowly the Gunny was losing his fight. Despite having two weapons...one actually; the Auricon appeared to have been knocked out of his grip at some point...he was steadily being pushed backwards. He was clearly very skilled, and used his superior reach, mass, and leverage to good effect. But, despite his mass of muscles, the Minbari was still clearly the stronger of the two, and was pushing the Gunny back into a corner of the room, leaving him no escape.

When he was just a few meters from the corner, the Marine leaped backwards into the corner without warning, planting a booted foot against each of the walls where they met, and launched himself at full speed towards the closing Minbari officer. Unfazed, the Minbari planted himself and swung a mighty blow at the Marine's head. The Gunny intercepted the pike with his hand, swinging himself over the top of it in a shockingly fast zero-G tumble, spinning towards the Minbari who tried to dive backwards. Halfway through the Marine's tumble, his blade seemed to just barely flicker outwards...and removed the Minbari's head neatly from his shoulders, globules of blood spraying out to float gracefully through the air. The Marine finished his tumble, planting his feet on the floor and springing for the cover of a nearby beam. He looked backwards towards the headless corpse and shouted, "There can be only one, bitch!"

Gideon had absolutely no idea what that meant, and had no time to wonder. Seeing their leader fall, the Minbari howled in dismay and left their own positions. Honor compelled them to seek vengeance. As one they charged forward to attack. They would find vengeance or death, nothing else would suffice. Gideon swung up his shotgun, more than happy to provide them with as much of option B as they could want.  
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Commander Jeffrey Sinclair walked through the halls of the Midway, surveying the devastation. Gideon walked with him, silently absorbed in his own dark thoughts. A massive Marine, a Master Gunnery Sergeant, followed along, slightly behind and to the right of the Lieutenant Commander. He seemed to have adopted the young officer for the time being. Jeff assumed that the Marine and the Lord knew why. He himself found Marines to be nearly as mystifying as women.

They stopped at the bridge. Nearly half the bridge crew, including First Officer Lieutenant Hong Se Chenshan, had been killed trying to defend their positions. Gideon let out a nearly silent half sob.

"It's not your fault, Mat."

"Of course it is. It's my ship. My ship, my responsibility."

"You couldn't have known this would happen. You couldn't have prevented it."

"Couldn't I? A telepath might have noticed the Minbari before they made it on board, but we don't have any, because I didn't push. We wanted to prioritize getting them on the Starfuries and the big guns on the Nova and Lexington first. Interceptors were deemed secondary. And despite the fact that the Nova has entire teams of telepaths for every single gun mount and the ship overall, that every single flight of Starfuries now has at least one teep, I sat back and allowed my ship to go without a single one assigned to our defense."

"That's not on you, Mat. It's on Sheridan and me, or otherwise it's on all of us Captains collectively."

"And then I gave the order to shelter in place. Which was just perfect, because these bulkheads didn't even slow the Minbari down. So instead of my crew falling back to safe parts of the ship, they sat there in their little coffins, waiting for the Minbari to come and put them down a few at a time, barely armed and completely unsupported. I lost over a quarter of my crew, and that is _entirely_ on me."

"Don't do this to yourself, Mat. Shelter in place is straight out of the book for this type of situation."

"The book wasn't written for a Minbari attack! And I should have known better! And here," he said, gesturing around at the carnage on the bridge. "I left a damned Lieutenant in charge, practically a baby..."

"He was your First Officer, and the exact same age you are..."

Gideon didn't seem to hear him, not even noticing the interruption. "...and I left him...I left them...alone, while I went gallivanting around the ship, pretending to be a Marine. I left them to die!"

"You tried to prevent exactly that. To make sure the Minbari never made it here. Someone had to, and you can't be everywhere at once."

"And then..."

"THAT'S ENOUGH!," Sinclair snapped, finally losing his patience. " _Lieutenant Commander Gideon, you will pull your shit together, right damned now_." Gideon looked at him in shock, but Jeff wasn't done. "This fleet desperately needs to get moving again, and your ship and your crew need you, Captain. The Minbari spread damage far and wide. It's mostly easily repairable, but there's an awful lot of work to do, and your people need direction. And the damage to your crew will be much harder to fix. I'm not even talking about empty seats, which will be challenging enough. Your people are traumatized, and need someone to help lead them through to the other side. That falls on you, so you just don't have the time to indulge in your own weakness. Stuff it down, or follow regs and see a priest or a head shrinker, or just find yourself a girl and get laid. I don't really give a damn, but you _will_ man up and captain, Captain. You got me?"

"Yes, Sir," Gideon said, a little iron returning to his spine.

"Good. You're not alone, Mat. There are people here, and throughout the fleet, to help you. But _you_ need to take point. Now get it done."

The kid actually pulled himself to attention and offered a salute. Jeff returned it solemnly, then watched as he dashed off to pull his bleeding ship together.

"That was well done." Jeff looked over at the big Marine, somewhat surprised that he was still there, and that he had spoken. He had been silently following Gideon for hours. "I was worried that I'd have to do it myself. Cross service dress downs are always so awkward. Especially when it's a senior enlisted man dressing down an officer...no matter how young."

"I appreciate your keeping an eye on things, Master Gunnery Sergeant. And especially pulling Mat's fat out of the fire. He's a hell of an officer. One of the best I've ever met. He just happens to also be a hell of a lot greener than even the rest of us."

"And you're all pretty damned green," the Marine chuckled. "At least for your current positions."

"Don't I know it."

"How bad is it?" he asked seriously, meeting Jeff's gaze directly.

"It's a setback. A pretty bad one. But we've had worse. We'll survive it."

"I guess that's all we can ask for, at this point."

"Let's hope it's enough."


	13. Chapter 12 - The Long and Winding Road

Chapter 12 - The Long and Winding Road

 **Krish, Unclaimed Space - Exodus Fleet, the Olympic - February, 2249**

Elizabeth Lochley rolled over in bed and tapped Gideon on the nose. "Time to get up, Matthew." He groaned and pulled his arm from around her, then sat up, rubbing his face. She gave him a concerned look. "Are you alright? You've been awfully quiet."

"It's been a rough week, you know?"

"I have no doubt. I'm glad you were able to get away a little early."

"Required time under spin. Given today's Council Meeting, it just made sense. Besides, I needed this. Orders and all."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You were _ordered_ to sleep with me?"

"After a fashion. Don't worry, our extracurricular activities are still a secret, at least so far as I know."

"Good. But I am glad we could get together. I needed this to. I'm planning on making a suggestion at today's Council meeting that is likely to be unpopular. I needed to work off some adrenaline. I'm also hoping to have your support."

"Mind telling me what it's about?"

"I'd rather not go through it more than once. Besides, we don't really have the time. Please just keep an open mind."

"That I can do."  
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Sinclair stood up as Gideon and Lochley walked in together and took their seats. Garibaldi had advised him a few weeks ago that the two of them had begun sleeping together. They were trying to keep it under wraps, but Garibaldi was _very_ good at ferreting out clandestine information. Jeff _hadn't_ been there when Michael had advised John about the affair. He was rather glad he hadn't been in the room when Michael had informed John. He hadn't been divorced from Elizabeth for all that long, and her sleeping with a younger man had to smart at least a little.

Jeff couldn't have cared less who was sleeping with whom. Still, it did draw Gideon's loyalty into question. His judgement as well, but he was rather young after all. There probably weren't many men at that age who would be prepared to turn away Elizabeth Lochley.

Frankly, it was just another stressor that was rapidly making this whole Council of Captains boondoggle completely untenable. He knew that John and Michael had been making preparations in case things went off the rails. They had mostly left him out of it, except to ensure his support. He honestly hoped that whatever steps they were prepared to take remained purely precautionary. If things went badly, the fleet couldn't afford to suffer a military schism. However, he had a bad feeling about this meeting. Lochley hadn't said exactly what she wanted to talk about. That might have meant waiting for a better time, but both Levitt and Bester had also stated that they wanted to meet.

"Now that we're all here, let's get this meeting rolling. We've all got a lot on our plates. Commander Lochley, I believe this is your show?"

"Thank you, Commander Sinclair." She stood up as Jeff sat down. Looking around at everyone in the room, she said softly. "We lost a lot of good people to the recent Minbari action. It would have been hard to predict that the Minbari would try a stealth infiltration of infantry forces into one of our vessels, but none the less mistakes were made that lead to those deaths...that made that attack possible in the first place. We need to deal with that situation, to ensure it is not repeated in the future. To that end..."

Gideon stood up, interrupting her. His face was pale. He looked distraught, yet his stance was firm. He turned a hurt look on Lochley. "I recognize that I screwed up. You think I don't know that? I've been going over those mistakes in my head every minute since the attack. Those were _my_ friends and classmates that died. My shipmates. My crew. _My_ responsibility. I should have ensured there was a telepath aboard. I shouldn't have told them to shelter in place. I shouldn't have left an unprepared officer in charge of the ship while I went off to do security's job. I understand my mistakes, Commander, and I am more than willing to pay for them. If this Council so wishes, I am prepared to tender my resignation, or accept reassignment. I can only apologize for my failure."

Lochley's mouth hung open in astonishment. "Matthew, that's not what I..."

"Sit down, Lieutenant Commander," Sheridan said to Gideon, speaking right over the top of her. "You're not going anywhere. Aside from the fact that nothing you just listed was actually a mistake, at least not ones that you're responsible for, the overall responsibility for that combat, and all of the casualties therein, falls on me. If people need someone to blame, they can blame me."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Captain. Because I do... _we_ do...as well," Levitt stated, as Gideon finally sat down, a confused look on his face. "There was no need to fight that battle, which I tried to tell you at the time. We could have easily escaped to hyperspace well before the Minbari could close the distance to engage us. Yes, we might have lost some of the shorter legged civilian vessels in transit due to lack of maintenance. But, that's always a danger. No matter how many might have been lost, it almost certainly would have been fewer, and less detrimental to the survival of this fleet, than the losses we actually took.

"When I tried to impress these points upon you Captain, you stated flatly that they were combat decisions and yours to make. I suppose that was true. However, I think it is incumbent upon us to revisit and review that situation."

"Excuse me?!" Sheridan asked hotly.

"I cannot, Captain. Under your command this fleet has gotten into more battles with the Minbari than any of our standing pre war fleets. This is an evacuation fleet, not a combat task force. We are meant to be running away, not trying to take down the Minbari Federation. I believe you have lost your perspective on this fact. I believe the rumors about your were correct. You're a glory hound, or perhaps you just believe you're a hero. Either way, allowing you to drag us into one combat after another is endangering the safety of this fleet and the survival of the entire human race. It's just us left, Captain. We can't afford to risk our precious cargo."

Sheridan gave her an appraising look, but Sinclair broke in, exasperated. "You might _try_ to remember, Commander Levitt, that the reason those fleets fought so few battles was because they didn't survive to fight more. The fact that we _have_ survived is telling, to say the least."

"No one's arguing that John isn't the best man to command us in a fight," Lochley cut in, trying to regain the focus of the conversation. "But, when you've got a great hammer, everything starts to look like a nail. We should be relying less on combat and more on evasion. I just don't think John has the best perspective for making that choice."

"Then how would we make it?" Sinclair asked. "I hope you aren't planning to suggest that we refer the initiation of combat to a Council decision. That's insane." While he was speaking, Jeff saw Sheridan and Garibaldi share a look. John gave the tiniest of nods, and Garibaldi reached up and hit a button on the Link attached to his wrist.

"That's exactly what we are saying," Levitt responded. "Oh, obviously not for situations where we have already fallen under attack. But, when we have time to spare and the option to retreat, then yes, this council should decide."

Lochley had noticed the byplay between Sheridan and Garibaldi, particularly when Michael had activated his Link. "Did you need something, Lieutenant Commander? This is a rather important discussion for you to be conducting other business."

"I'm just having some drinks delivered. It looks like this is going to be a _long_ conversation."

"I doubt it will be all that long," she responded. "It's just going to come down to a vote. We move that the authority to initiate combat be moved to this Council. Unless you would like to take this opportunity to defend your actions, Captain?" she asked Sheridan.

"Defend my actions?" he said calmly. "No. That would be both unnecessary and inappropriate. I am the senior officer of this fleet. Frankly, this whole Council is inappropriate. I won't be forced to justify my actions to people who should not be questioning my orders at all. But let's look at this Council. You wouldn't have brought this to the Council, Commander, if you weren't already assured of Commanders Levitt and Bester's votes. I am equally confident that both Garibaldi and Sinclair think your motion is ridiculous, if not mutinous. So, once again, this vote falls to you Mr. Gideon. This whole Council only exists because you refused to make a decision, Lieutenant Commander. No more fence sitting. It's time for you to make a decision. To pick a side and stick with it. To live with the consequences of your own decisions. What happens next is very much on you, Matt. Ante up. Your Commanding Officer and your girlfriend both demand it."

It seemed that Gideon and Lochley were the only two surprised people in the room. While everyone had eventually become aware of their relationship, they had clearly both believed that their secret was secure. Gideon blushed, but stood up. "Alright, Captain. Perhaps a lot of this dissent is my responsibility. I'm sorry for that. It's funny. Some of you know that I'm still taking the senior year courses. Professor Watkins recently assigned me a term paper on the ethics of the chain of command. I've done more thinking on that recently that I ever have before. I came to this meeting prepared to offer a resignation, if it was desired. You said that it wasn't, so I'm guessing you still trust me to do my job." He paused, sharing a long look with Lochley. "I guess it's time I started trusting you to do yours. You have my vote, Captain. Permanently." So saying, Mat sat down with quiet dignity.

"Then I see no more need for this council," Sheridan said with satisfaction. "Not that there was one in the first place. Even if I allowed it to continue, and I won't, I would now wield four votes for every decision. This council was a cause of dissention and a waste of energy. The fleet is well rid of it."

"Now hold on right there, John," Lochley said, standing up. "You may have four votes right now, but there's no reason to assume that Matthew, or Jeffrey, or Michael might not change their minds at some important point in the future. You can't just squash the voices of those who disagree with you!"

"I just did, Commander," he responded calmly. "From here on out, you will do your job and follow orders, or you will suffer the consequences."

Levitt arose as well, though Bester remained seated. "Your threats don't concern us, Captain. The survival of the human race does. We aren't trying to grab power here. We're trying to keep you from causing our species to fall into extinction. The majority rests with you, for now, Captain. But we have a responsibility to act as a political opposition. There's nothing more to say. We're done here." So saying, she strode to the door, followed closely by Lochley, and threw it open...to find a quartet of burly Marines completely blocking the doorway.

"Close the door, Commander," Sheridan said with quiet satisfaction. "I'll say when we are or are not done. Sit down. Now."

Sandra stared silently at the Marines for a few moments, and Jeff wondered if she was considering trying to smash her way through them. Either she wasn't or she thought better of it, because a moment later she shut the door and returned to her seat. Lochley had already retaken hers.

Sheridan gave them a thin lipped smile. "Things are going to change ladies. Frankly, if I didn't know that you both really _were_ trying to do your best by this fleet, rather than just grabbing for power, I'd have had you both executed already, ex-wife or no. I have every right to convene a Courts Martial and have you tried for treason. But, Gideon here made the right decision, and I note that Commander Bester didn't try to leave with you, so maybe he's seen reason as well. What it really comes down to, though, is that you're both still invaluable to me. Your experience and skill could mean the difference between survival and destruction for this fleet. So, I'm willing to give you another chance, without demotion, punishment or official reprimand at this time. But keep this in mind; seven months ago you were completely irreplaceable. That is no longer the case. Your subordinates have had those same seven months to grow and evolve into their leadership roles. Laurel Takashima, Tom Rickerson, and Janice Kathway might be young, they might need a lot of support, but I'd be comfortable putting any of the three of them into one of your slots.

He took a deep breath, then continued. "Effective immediately, Lieutenant Commanders Garibaldi and Gideon are hereby promoted to the rank of Commander, with all the rights and responsibilities therein. Commander Garibaldi, you will be continuing your current duties, but I will need you to spend more of your time commanding from the Midway. Commander Gideon, immediately upon termination of this meeting, you are to make your way to the EAS Eratosthenes, where you will assume command." Gideon's jaw dropped, and he looked ready to argue, but Sheridan ignored him. "Commander Levitt, you will not be returning to the Eratosthenes. You will instead be assuming Command of the Midway. Do not attempt to return to the Eratosthenes. If you do, I will have your shuttle shot down. Commander Gideon will collect your personal effects and have them shipped to you. You will have precisely _one_ contact with your former crew. You are to draft a video message, wherein you will tell them that the fleet is enacting a shuffling of command staff, to maximize efficiency. You will wish them well, and deliver any commendations you wish to enact, and _that is all_. Any further attempts to initiate contact will be considered a violation of orders and subject to punitive measures.

"Commander Sinclair," he said, glancing towards Jeff, "immediately upon termination of this meeting, you are to make your way to the EAS Lexington, where you will assume command."

Despite what had been done with Gideon and Levitt, Jeff still found himself shocked. "Wait, what?!"

"This isn't a negative reflection on you, Jeff. You've done an incredible job as CAG, and in expanding the pilot cadre. No one could have done better. But, I _need_ you on the Lexington. I have to be able to trust my command staff, and that's just not the case right now."

Jeff took in a deep breath, then sighed. "I'll get the job done, Captain."

"Good man." He turned his attention to Elizabeth, who clearly knew what was coming. "Commander Lochley, you will not be returning to the Lexington. You will instead be assuming the position of Commander Space Fighter Group, stationed aboard the Midway, where Garibaldi can keep an eye on you and Commander Levitt. I am well aware that you have the experience and the talent for the role. Do not attempt to return to the Lexington. If you do, I will have your shuttle shot down. Commander Sinclair will collect your personal effects and have them shipped to you. You will have precisely _one_ contact with your former crew. You are to record an identical video message to the one Commander Levitt is creating for her crew. Any further attempts to initiate contact will be considered a violation of orders and subject to punitive measures.

He took another breath and turned to Bester. "Commander Bester, I do not trust you, but neither have your actions been as flagrant as those of Commanders Lochley and Levitt. You will be allowed to remain in your current position, but be aware that we are watching." Bester gave a shallow nod. _It's not much, but that'll have to do_ , Jeff thought. There were only so many positions open aboard the Midway.

Addressing the room at large, John continued. "We'll still be meeting, people. You are all my command staff, and we will need to have staff meetings. I will likely bring in a few more faces, though. For now, assume the meeting schedule will match that of the council sessions, as much as that galls me. You'll all still have your chance to express your opinions. Believe it or not, I do welcome your input." So saying, he turned and looked at Lochley and Levitt. "You two," he spread his gaze to include Bester, "You _three_ have been given a second chance. Don't screw it up. Perhaps you think it's unfair that I am holding your actions against you. My goal, to, is ensuring the survival of the species. From my perspective, and right now that's the only one that counts, it was _your_ actions which endangered that survival. I won't allow that anymore. Step out of line again, and you won't be cooling your heels in the brig. I'll put you out an airlock." he shifted his gaze directly to Commander Levitt. "Alright, Commander. _Now_ we're done here."  
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Elizabeth finished recording the message to her crew, and stood up, meeting Sandra's gaze.

"Are we really going to send these? Just leave our ships behind?" Levitt asked.

"At this point, I really don't see that we have much choice. For the time being, it's time to shut up and soldier. Setting aside the questionable nature in which we usurped the chain of command, right now even votes aren't really open to us. You heard Matthew. He's given his full support to John. We'd just lose every vote anyway, which means that the delays and inefficiencies of the Council come with no benefit. And that's assuming we managed to call a vote or reconvene the Council. We wouldn't. If John is at the point that he thinks killing us would be to the benefit of the fleet, he won't hesitate to do it. That's his responsibility, and his duty, as he sees it."

"We could still refuse his orders. There are a lot of people in this fleet loyal to us. We could resist; make a fight of it. Would he be willing to start a civil war within the fleet?"

"If he thinks the mission...the species...is in danger, and that was the best way to save it? Yes, without a doubt. The more important question is, would you?"

"We have to do something! His actions are endangering our survival. The future of humanity as a species is a stake! It's _our_ duty to protect it, regardless of the cost to us."

"I know, Sandra. And I agree. But, right now is not the time to do it. For the time being, he's holding all the cards. And you heard him yourself. It's his belief that his actions are the best way to ensure all of our survival; that it's _our_ actions which have endangered humanity. I'm not willing to lower humanity's chances even more by actively resisting him. At least not right now. For the time being, let's try it his way. Maybe he actually will listen more to us as advisers and staff than as political opposition."

"And if he continues to endanger the species?"

"Officially, that's his call to make, and it's not for us to second guess him. He's the CO with the big picture, making the big decisions. So, we hope for the best. But...we prepare for the worst."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, we keep our eyes and ears, and especially our options, open. We play good little soldiers, and give him all of the support he needs. And, if it doesn't work out...then we jump off that bridge when we come to it."  
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 **Mroc, Unclaimed Space - Exodus Fleet - February, 2249**

Talia Winters stretched like a cat as Jason ran the fingers of his left hand through her hair while simultaneously pulling her close with his right. He pressed a kiss against the base of her jaw. All that might have been awkward under gravity. The two of them had become _very_ familiar with the benefits of zero-G. She looked down at the bunk. The sheets were in total disarray, strewn and twisted. Well, zero-G had it's negative aspects as well.

Jason checked his chrono and cursed. "I'm due on duty. Gotta run." He sprang from the bed and began to dress.

"Help me make the bed."

"No time. I'll be late."

Talia sat up with alarm, heedless of her state of undress. "I'm no good at making a bed military style. It was _your_ idea to use Susan's bunk! She's going to kill us if we don't put things back exactly as they were."

"Sorry, love. Gotta fly." He gave her a quick kiss and a more than friendly squeeze, then opened the door and darted out. She had to dive for the wall so no one passing in the corridor would see her. Once he had closed the door, she paced to the middle of the room in irritation and looked at the disaster of Susan's bunk. Somehow they had even managed to knock her foot locker out of it's mounting, popping the lid. Her belongings had started to float out.

Talia went to the footlocker first, as she knew exactly where it belonged. After some examination of the problem, followed by several shoves and a kick, she managed to get it repositioned properly in its mounting and resecured. She lifted the cover, intending to tidy up Susan's belongings before she closed and locked it. There was the expected tangle of clothes, blankets, and toiletries, knocked awry with the footlocker. However, they had been knocked off the six objects on which they had been sitting, uncovering the hidden items below.

Talia stared in shock at the half dozen military explosives. They looked roughly the same as the explosives which they had found before, when Susan had been forced to explain her predicament to them. They shouldn't be there! They had been so careful, trying to ensure no one could frame Susan in this way. They had worked it out so that one of the three of them was always in the room, to ensure no one could sneak in and plant evidence. She and Ironheart had even been forced to be creative in scheduling their trysts, though she had not explained why to him. Certainly no one could have planted the evidence while the two of them were...enjoying themselves. They weren't _that_ oblivious.

A moment of doubt washed through her. If it was impossible for outsiders to have planted the explosives, then wouldn't that mean that it had to be someone on the inside putting them there? _Susan certainly had access to her own locker_. No! Guilt washed through her. She was Susan's friend. She had touched her mind. She knew very well that Susan wasn't capable of these kinds of things. It must have happened during the last battle, when they were all at battle stations. No one was watching the room then. Of course, that required it to be someone with enough authority that no one would question why he or she was wandering the corridors, rather than at his or her post. Scary thought.

Dealing with this would require some careful thought. She'd need to talk to Lyta about it, hopefully before Susan. She began to pile Susan's things back in on top of the explosives, no longer bothering to be careful. She'd just tell Susan she had noticed one of the explosives, and had been forced to make a mess of it searching for the rest. She could even blame the state of the bunk on the same search. Thank God!  
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Lyta and Talia all but dragged Susan down the corridors of the Olympic, a bag loaded with explosives slung over Lyta's shoulder. "Do we really need to get her involved?" Susan asked for the fourth time.

Lyta rolled her eyes and said, "She's your friend. She would want to help. And this is beyond what Talia and I can do on our own, while this is entirely her line of business. Now, which door is it?"

Susan gestured to a door which appeared to be a broom closet. Since Tessa's office actually _had_ been a broom closet, that made perfect sense. Lyta strode forward and knocked forcefully.

A moment later, Tessa opened the door, smiling. Her expression turned to one of surprise when she saw Lyta and Talia. "You didn't say you were bringing friends."

Susan performed introductions, then said, "I needed them here. They're wrapped up in this."

"Wrapped up in what, exactly?"

"Could we go into your office? I don't want any prying ears."

"Four people won't fit in this coffin. Hold on though. I'll see if the Chief's office is open. Garibaldi's been spending a lot more time on the Midway lately." She strode off and checked behind a door at the end of the corridor, then waved to them to come forward. She held the door open for them, and they all entered.

The room beyond wasn't large by any definition, but it was reasonably comfortable, and there was room for all of them. Three molded plastic chairs sat in front of a battered old desk. Tessa gestured for them to seat themselves, the went behind Garibaldi's desk and pulled his chair around to the front so she could sit with them. "So what's up, ladies?"

Susan hesitated, and Lyta placed her hand reassuringly on her friend's shoulder. "I think I'm being framed," Susan began. She laid out a disjointed story of lost time, and awakening places with no idea how she'd gotten there. She moved on to awakening in a hazardous environment suit, with needle marks in her arm, a badge indicating high levels of radiation exposure, and empty vials of an experimental anti radiation treatment floating nearby. And finally of finding military grade explosives in her room on two separate occasions, once with the word traitor scrawled across her sheets in wet paint, meant to look like blood. Finally, she ended by taking the bag from Lyta, and exposing its contents. As she spoke, Tessa's expression grew darker and darker.

"You should have brought this to me earlier. Susan, you knew I was investigating the explosion aboard the King Solomon's Mines. You lied to me." Tessa was clearly irate. "I should arrest all three of you right now."

Susan looked at her feet. "I told you I didn't know anything about it. Technically that was correct. I have no memory of that time. The radiation drugs and hazardous environment suit don't mean that I was there. Someone is trying to make it look like it was me."

"Susan, your logs indicate that you flew your Starfury past the far side of the King Solomon's Mines just before the explosion. You just admitted to me that you had a vacuum capable hazard suit and radiation resistance drugs, as well as access to military grade explosives. That gives you both the means and the opportunity."

Susan looked up and met her eyes. "Do what you feel is necessary."

Talia, however, was having none of it. "You're supposed to be Susan's friend," she said hotly. "We came to you for help. If you know her at all, you know she's not capable of anything like this! If you arrest her, if you even log her as a suspect, they'll strip her flight status. She's a telepath, remember? Guilty until proven innocent. And, in case you forgot, she's one of the best pilot's we've got. Having her out there saves lives!"

"And if she takes more lives than she saves?" Tessa asked sharply. She sighed. "Susan, I believe you. But it's my job to be suspicious, and I have to put justice and the safety of others above my friendship to you. Then there's the fact that the story you just told is pretty fantastic. Coming from anyone else I'd call it pure fabrication. Frankly, one of the few reasons I haven't already drawn my weapon is because you don't have a motive. Not one that I can see, anyway." She scowled thoughtfully. "Another reason, though, is that if you're right; if someone is trying to frame you, then that person would have to be very highly placed. There aren't too many people who fall into that category, and they're all smart folks. If I run this through channels, I'll be forced to bring you in. Then you'll probably end up dead in a cell, and the real culprit goes to ground. At that point I might never find them."

"We've been trying to keep a watch on the room, to identify anyone trying to plant evidence," Lyta offered. "Apparently we weren't doing a very good job."

"One of the things you learn in law enforcement is that the simplest answer is usually the right one. The simplest answer here is that Susan did it. I know all three of us are her friends, but how well do we really know her? We all met her barely more than half a year ago."

"If she did it, why would she be coming to you now? Wouldn't involving law enforcement be the last thing she would want to do?"

"It's an old trick. Bring in the cops to shift suspicion away from yourself. Even better if you can find one who is friendly to you from the start. It just takes a devious mind."

"We've been inside her head," Talia responded, shaking her own head. "We've touched her mind. I know for a fact that she isn't the kind of person to do this. We haven't done a deep scan, but even just casual telepathic contact proves she hasn't got the psyche for that kind of senseless slaughter."

"Well, I haven't been inside her head..." Tessa started.

"We could take you there," Talia interrupted. "Show you."

Tessa hesitated. "Hold that thought. You said that you hadn't done a deep scan. Why not?"

Lyta answered, "Because it's painful and unnecessary. We know without a doubt that she isn't the kind of person who would do this. A deep scan would provide evidence to keep her out of prison, but it's not likely to keep her flying. And it won't keep her from being locked up during a formal investigation. You just said that was likely to get her killed."

"What if it _was_ me?" Susan asked in a near whisper. "What if I _did_ do those things? Maybe...maybe there's something wrong with me. A mental illness...PTSD induced...homicidal mania."

"It doesn't work that way, Susan," Lyta responded. Talia and I have been studying the human mind for years now. We've had enough mental contact with you that we'd already have been able to tell something was wrong with your mind. It would have been glaringly obvious. You've got some PTSD, some low level depression and mental scarring. Hell, we all do. But your mind is rock solid. You're fine, and I guarantee you didn't do this."

"Ok," Tessa said after several moments of silence, "I'm going to help you. I'm not bringing you in, nor am I filing this conversation in official records. Not because you're not a suspect Susan. You are. But because I think it's likely that someone else is involved. Someone who likely has access to my investigation. We're going to work together and try to ferret that person out. It's not like you can really go to ground. We're in space, after all," she said with a small smile. "There is no ground.

She took a deep breath. "Here's what I need from you. We keep this close. The four of us in this room, that's our circle of trust. We bring no one else in without first meeting to discuss with each other. That includes the infamous Mr. Ironheart," she said, looking directly at Talia.

"You told her?" Talia squeaked at Susan, turning a bright red.

Tessa ignored her, continuing, "Keep up the watch on your quarters. You might just get lucky. Report anything suspicious to me. We're going to start meeting often, weekly if possible, for 'girls night out.' Trust nothing to electronic communications, everything is said in person. Other than that, act as though everything is normal. Do not deviate from your routines. I'm going to start running leads through some back channels. Susan, I'll be looking into you as much as I am looking for a mysterious high level conspirator. But I'll prove your innocence or guilt one way or the other, so at least we'll all know. This could take a while. I can't do this officially, so I have to maintain all of my other responsibilities or risk arousing suspicion. I'll probably get fired," she ended with a sigh. "Well, I didn't really want the job anyway, so maybe you're doing me a favor.

"What are friends for?" Susan asked, finally cracking a small smile.

Tessa grunted, then picked up the bag and emptied it's contents into her desk drawer. Rooting around through the desk, she found a bulky jacket and a couple of old and very unwashed food containers. Shoving them into the bag, she appraised it with a critical eye. "Looks about right. We can't have anyone thinking you dropped something off here." She tossed the bag to Lyta, who grimaced at the smell of rotting food. Rising, she said, "Well, come on ladies. Follow me."

"Where are we going?" Talia asked curiously.

"Establishing our cover. Girl's night out, remember? I hope you brought a stick. Between the four of us, we're going to have to beat the men off."  
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 **Cascan, Cascor Space - Exodus Fleet, EAS Nova - March, 2249**

The EAS Nova slipped silently into the Cascan system, joining the rest of the fleet, which had been slowly draining into the system. "Report."

"No sign that we've been detected so far, Captain," Takashima responded. "We've got the Hubble keeping an eye out for activity from the Cascor. Nothing so far. Of course, at this range, even our best sensors aren't really seeing much."

"Any nearby cover for us to shelter behind?"

"Not a thing, Captain. The nearest sizeable body is about ten billion kilometers away."

Sheridan grunted. Their tactic of jumping into the Kuiper belt or hiding behind gas giants or outer planets had proven largely ineffective at allowing the fleet to sneak through. They had been met time and time again by species who had expected they were coming. And now, with the Minbari out there stirring up all the League races, _everyone_ expected them to be coming. Of course, the entire reason for selecting this route was to get away from the main track of the Minbari search, and go where no one expected them to be. It seemed to be working out, but they still needed to be cautious. One sighting reported to the Minbari could have them right back in the mess.

Sneaking past was going to be particularly difficult with the Cascor. While their territory was much smaller than the EA, it was also more densely packed and utilized. They were highly industrialized, with a large population, and a very well developed military. The mammalian species, somewhat raccoon like, was known for their adventurous spirit and nimble frames. Between those aspects and their diminutive size, they produced some of the best fighter pilots in space. In fact, their naval doctrine appeared to be quite similar to the EA's, with a large mix of ships ranging from light and nimble escorts to well armed capital ships. And, also like the EA, they put a much higher emphasis on fighter tactics than most other species. The Cascor, however, took this to a much higher level, actively fielding at least _five_ different types of fighters, from light to heavy and with strike and torpedo varieties thrown in. They even deemphasized their primary capital ships, which tended to top out in power around the level of a Hyperion class heavy cruiser, versus their massive supercarriers. The whole setup reminded Sheridan a lot of the dominant naval doctrine on Earth during the late 20th and early 21st centuries. Add in the fact that their technology was at least as advanced as the EA's, or perhaps even a generation or two ahead, and the Cascor were a formidable opponent indeed. The EA as a whole would have had a tough time dealing with them, much less one largely civilian fleet with just a smattering of military vessels for escort.

Theoretically, the Cascor were friends. The Dilgar invasion had come through this way, and the locals had been some of the friendliest towards Earth, right up to the start of the Minbari war. John had no intention of trusting that the situation remained unchanged. Therefore, he had elected to try out a new tactic for staying undetected.

The moment the Cascan beacon signal strength had grown strong enough for navigation to feel there was even a remote chance they could pick it up again upon reentry into hyperspace, the Eratosthenes had jumped back to normal space. Sheridan reasoned that with hundreds of ships trying to find the beacon, their odds of locking it up again had to go way up. Further, given that they had multiple ships with jump drives, they could have a few ships jump into hyperspace to try to locate the beacon's signal. If unsuccessful, they could use the fleet remaining in normal space as an impromptu beacon of their own, allowing them to just jump right back out to the same location. If necessary, they could always move the fleet closer in to the star, to get closer to the Cascan beacon.

Upon exit, Sinclair had commed to advise that they had exited at just over 100 AU, about fifteen billion kilometers, out from the local star. That was more than twice the distance from the star to the outer edge of the local Kuiper Belt. Although that was still well inside of the inner boundary of the Oort cloud, from a hyperspace standpoint it was practically like attempting to jump out into interstellar space. It was a maneuver not entirely devoid of risk. John was hoping that sheer distance alone would keep them hidden from the eyes and sensors of the Cascor, or any Minbari who might be visiting their system. The fleet had slipped into the system, under minimal emissions.

As John continued to peruse the status and progress reports being delivered from the fleet, he felt a presence at his elbow. Looking up, he found Garibaldi at his shoulder. "Commander Garibaldi, nice to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just stopped by for a chat...in private. Got a minute?"

John bit back a retort that he rarely had anything so luxurious as an actual minute. Instead, he said only, "Certainly, Commander. Follow me please. Laurel, you have the bridge."

He lead Michael off the bridge, and down a dozen meters of empty corridor, until they arrived at a small, nondescript hatch. Opening it, he invited Michael into his personal quarters. Gesturing that the Commander should take a seat in the lone chair, he propped himself on his bunk. "Alright, Michael, what's so important? Aren't you supposed to be keeping an eye on my two favorite female Commanders?"

"I keep an eye on a lot of things. And since you asked, the ladies seem to be behaving themselves. They aren't happy, but they _are_ doing their jobs. I'm on top of it. I'm on top of most things. But every once in awhile, I'll find something that requires your attention. Some of those things I won't trust to open comms, or even secure ones. Face to face is usually the most secure.

"You've got my attention."

"It's the telepaths."

"The ones assigned to weapons tracking, or our pilots?"

"Neither. The civilian telepaths. I started noticing a few weeks ago that there were an awful lot of personnel transfers going through. People being transferred from ship to ship. It all seemed above board...duty transfers. Things peripherally related to our hiring telepaths for tracking and targeting roles. Things related to the new workers we assigned to assist the zero-G maintenance and repair teams. Realignment of fleet duties as we reassign responsibilities to cover for ships we've lost. I couldn't see a pattern to it, but rather than slowing down, the transfers have been speeding up. Nothing crazy, but consistently high volume, just low enough to avoid being blatant. Given the high volume and weeks of data, eventually the pattern was going to show up as long as I kept looking."

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense."

"Someone's concentrating the telepaths."

That was an alarming thought. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean that the telepaths are being shifted around the fleet, onto a relatively small number of ships. If trends keep up, they will eventually be the majority population on the Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth, as well as a number of freighters carrying diverse goods and supplies, repair ships, resource extraction vessels, and colony construction and support vessels."

"That sounds like the structure for a separate fleet. Something smaller, but at least theoretically viable to survive on it's own."

"Those were my thoughts. I tried to track down the source of the movement orders, and that's even more concerning. None of the telepaths we know of in positions of power have anything to do with this. Believe me, I spent a _lot_ of time scrutinizing Mr. Bester, and as far as I can tell, he's squeaky clean. Backtracking the orders didn't lead to telepaths at all. All signs point to the Mars Resistance."

"Are you sure? That wouldn't seem to make much sense. What do they get out of it.?"

"I have no idea," Michael said in irritation. "And I've been doing a lot of digging. At least, as much as I could do and still stay under their radar. You're right. It doesn't make any sense. The Marsies aren't being similarly concentrated, neither known Mars Resistance members nor the general Mars population. I've been hearing rumors of a Psi-Corp and Mars Resistance alliance for a while now, but they seem to be just that...crazy rumors. As far as I can tell, and I've really looked, Psi-Corp is dead and gone. The Mars Resistance is still out there, but they sure don't seem to be doing much resisting. At least until this.

"Theories?"

"Just two, and they're both a little bit crazy. One, the Marsies are concentrating the telepaths as a means to betray and eliminate them. Marsies tend to be a bit insular, even bigoted, and often have a chip on their shoulder. Maybe some prejudiced individuals are taking telepath fear to an extreme, or maybe they just don't want anyone around with a bigger sob story than their own."

"Seems like a heck of a stretch, Michael."

"Yeah, but the other theory is even crazier. It requires the Psi-Corp power structure to still be in place, and for them to have taken control of the Mars Resistance. I'd say both of those things are nearly impossible. And planning to betray their allies and the rest of the fleet together? They'd have to be crazy. They wouldn't get any of the military ships except the Mother, and good luck defending a fleet with just that. Hell, that theoretical fleet's margins would be so thin, even the slightest issue would probably lead to their failure and the deaths of everyone involved. None of it makes any sense."

John sighed. "I guess you'll just have to keep looking. Expand your search, but don't do anything that might tip them off that you know. I suppose that includes letting the transfers continue, at least for the time being. But prepare a response. I refuse to lose those ships."

"I'll have to bring on some help if I'm going to do much more."

"Make sure it's someone you trust. Or, at least, someone you can control."

"I have just the person in mind."  
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"You wanted to see me, Chief?"

"Tessa. Come on in."

"I've never been invited to your office before," she said, looking around curiously. Her eyes were drawn to an unusual object mounted on a small platform on his desk. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Well, if you think it's an archaic slugthrower, then you're correct. I keep it as a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"A reminder to keep a level head. It used to belong to Michael Jankowski. I've been tracing it's history, since we've been loaded with so many Earthgov records. It goes back a long ways, and has seen a lot of action. It's almost a shame that there are only four slugs left. I might try to fabricate some more, if I ever get the time."

"How did you get ahold of it?"

"That's a long story...for another time. Have a seat. Are you ok? You're looking a little green."

Tessa sighed. "I'm not great in zero-G," she admitted. Garibaldi had called for her to come aboard the Midway, which was unusual. But then again, he seemed to be rather reluctant to leave the ship these days. She couldn't be sure, but of all the rumors swirling through the fleet, the one that both rang true and offered a possible explanation had to do with the recent command slot reassignments. Officially the Captains were being shuffled to broaden their skills and provide redundancy. That didn't ring true to Tessa's ears, but it might explain Garibaldi's need to stick close to home. Though, why he'd need to keep an eye on either Lochley or Levitt was beyond her.

"Well, we should be under acceleration again soon. We'll be heading out to the next system, if we can ever find the beacon again. It seems like it's a bit more difficult than Captain Sheridan anticipated. But, if we don't pick it up, the solution is just to head deeper in system and try again. So, either way, you'll have inertia providing your stomach with a direction for down."

Tessa nodded her understanding. "So, what's up?"

He gave her an odd look. "The real question, Tessa, is what's up with you. You've been having a number of unusual meetings lately. Anything you want to tell me about?"

The bottom dropped out of her stomach, but she maintained her poker face. She was _very_ good at poker. She suspected Garibaldi was fishing. She had thought her meetings with Susan and the girls were well explained, but _something_ had the Chief suspicious. She doubted that he knew she was withholding information about an investigation. Even if he did, if it came down to an inquest, she could probably justify her actions based on the likelihood that the perpetrator would have access to official reports. At least, she could probably justify them enough to stay out of jail herself. Keeping her job was another matter. But, since she wasn't already under arrest, there was a good chance he didn't know what was going on. Fishing. All she said was, "Not really, boss. I wasn't aware my social life was all that interesting. Have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"Kid, I keep tabs on everyone. Especially when one of my two best deputies starts acting out of character."

"Now, I _know_ you didn't just lump me into the same category as Allan."

"Zack's good at his job. And don't try to change the subject. You've been having a number of odd meetings with telepaths."

"That's not illegal, is it? I thought the whole telepath bigotry problem was supposed to be behind us. Aren't they the new heroes of the fleet?"

"Maybe, but it trips warning bells and impacts an ongoing investigation when someone in a position of authority, with access to fleet security, has both connections to telepaths and to known Mars Resistance figures. Especially given rumors of their alliance."

"Wait, what?! I don't have ties to that mob of idiots!"

In response, he touched a key and an image was displayed on the screen on his desktop. Gary. "When was the last time you had contact with Mr. McKinney, here?"

Tessa sighed. "Gary joined the Resistance? Why am I not surprised. You know when I last met with him, Chief. I had to log and file it, since I dislocated that ass's other arm. Seriously, Chief. You processed his complaint and delivered the official reprimand...along with a beer because we both knew that he deserved it."

"And you haven't met with him since?"

"No. Why would I? More importantly, why would you think I had?"

"Because you've been having clandestine meetings with telepaths?"

"Clandestine...Chief, I've been meeting with friends. I'm allowed to have friends who are telepaths."

"Susan Ivanova has been your friend for a while now. The other two are new."

"Talia and Lyta are Susan's friends. I guess they're mine now as well. Aren't I allowed to make new friends? It's just girl's night out."

"Which is out of character for you..."

"I'm allowed to blow off some steam!" she snapped, not having to fake the irritation.

"But it's not just girl's night out, is it? I wouldn't be meeting with you if it was. When I said clandestine meetings, I meant it."

 _Uh oh_ , she thought. _This could be a problem_. She knew what was coming next, and was unsurprised when he keyed up another image.

"This is you and Ms. Winters ducking into a supply closet." He keyed up another. "Here are you and Ms. Alexander moving into a deserted maintenance annex." Another. "You and Ms. Ivanova."

 _Frag! I knew those meetings were a mistake_. The girls had just been so eager to coordinate their investigation with a real professional. It was an adventure to Lyta and Talia. Obviously, Susan took it more seriously. This was going to be a problem. The Chief might just bench her. At the very least, he would be keeping a close eye on her. What to do? Her mind spun furiously. _Stall_. "You really _have_ been keeping tabs on me. I hadn't realized our camera coverage was quite so thorough."

"Quit stalling, kid. Explain yourself."

"Alright, Chief. I guess you caught me. Maybe I should have let you know from the beginning. We're lesbians."

"I knew it. You can't get... _what!?_ " His double take was hilarious. Tessa said a silent thank you to her parents or creator or whoever had blessed her with a good poker face.

"We're lesbians, Chief. I thought I was only required to report romantic entanglements if they were with coworkers. It's not really romance, anyway. Just a lot of sex."

"I...but...umm...aren't you with Dr. Franklin?"

"Well, I suppose I'm bisexual. Talia to. I'm pretty sure Susan and Lyta are the real deal though. As for Stephen, he's great and all, but only a woman really knows how to please a woman. Oh, but please don't tell him. Men have such fragile egos."

"Yeah, ummm..." hey keyed furiously through computer records. He quickly regained his composure, which rather impressed Tessa. "This meeting with Ms. Winters lasted only ninety seconds. That's not enough time to...you know..."

"Get horizontal? We didn't. She was just delivering some supplies."

"Supplies?"

"Hygienic supplies. You see, Chief, when women spend a lot of time together, sometimes their cycles..."

" _Stop_! Stop. I don't wanna know. You're cleared. Do _not_ file any Consensual Romance paperwork. It's fine."

Still maintaining strict control of her face, Tessa laughed inside. _Men. Talk about a simple biological process, and even the smart ones just turn off their brains._

He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a data crystal, tossing it to her. "Here. You are now part of my special investigative team. Long story short, telepaths are being concentrated onto a few ships, and Mars Resistance seems to be facilitating it. We're not sure what we are looking at, but it's not good. Help run this down. Top priority, but it needs to stay way under the radar. You report directly and only to me for anything related to this matter, and you do not share. Not with coworkers and peers. Certainly not with boyfriends, girlfriends, lovers, or whatever the hell you've got going on there. Now get out of my office, while I try to pretend that last ten minutes never happened.

Tessa stared at the crystal in shock. This _had_ to be related to what was happening to Susan. _Well, this certainly complicates things_. With a start, she arose and left the office. _Now what do I do_?"  
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 **  
Bestine, Descari Space - Exodus Fleet - March, 2249**

The EAS Nova slipped out of hyperspace and into the Bestine system. It joined the rest of the fleet already in the system. John Sheridan looked out over the fleet, bunched up into a fairly small area for so many ships, and scowled. He was not happy. "We're sitting ducks, all bunched up like this. We need to get moving again. Where are the Descari?"

"Their shuttle is in close contact with the Eratosthenes, Captain. They are currently conversing with Commander Gideon." Takashima advised.

He grunted in irritation. "Take us through the fleet and bring us to within five hundred meters of their shuttle."

"That's awful close, Captain."

"Good. Let them get a good look at us, and remember just who we are."

"Course set, Captain."

"Get us moving." As the massive dreadnought picked its way gingerly through the crowded area, Sheridan brooded on the situation. This particular obstacle was entirely his fault. His tactic of popping in well outside of the Kuiper Belt, at the very edge of where the beacon could be seen without being directly in the course of its signal, had seemed to be quite effective. As far a they could tell, no one had spotted them. But then, when they had tried to leave the system, they had difficulties reacquiring the beacon. It wasn't a particularly dangerous situation. They could always just head deeper in system via normal space. But, that would have been time consuming. As it was, they still lost time on the several attempts it took them to lock up the beacon signal.

John had been worried about delays, and the Descari had been very friendly since the Dilgar war. More than that, their species had been severely reduced since the war. Not as much as species like the Mitoc and the Krish, but devastatingly so none the less. They would be centuries in the rebuilding, if they ever did. Despite attempting to rebuild and reinforce their defenses, they had also taken a very pacifistic and non confrontational stance on the galactic stage. He had felt it would be safe to chance running into them; that they would stay out of the way, and more likely wouldn't even notice the fleet was there. He planned to shelter behind the outer planets, while the Descari usually kept their fleets close to the inner system. Even should they be noticed, he expected the Descari would try to ignore them at the worst, and possibly even offer to help at the best.

So, it was with some surprise that he received Commander Gideon's signal that the Eratosthenes had been met by a Descari shuttle, the Captain of which was demanding that they turn around and immediately vacate Descari space.

The Nova finally threaded its way through the fleet and approached the Eratosthenes and the tiny shuttle, slowing as it neared its intended position. "Passing one kilometer to shuttle now, Captain," Laurel reported. "Receiving a signal from the Descari Captain. He is protesting our carelessly close approach to his vessel."

"Acknowledged. Cancel my previous order, Lieutenant Commander." He saw her open her mouth to command the ship to halt, then cut in, "Bring us to within one hundred meters of the shuttle." Laurel's jaw dropped a bit, but she passed the order. With a ship over a kilometer in length, and as heavily armed and armored as a Nova was, stopping on a dime wasn't really in the cards. An approach that close courted a collision. He saw with approval that she refused to further question his orders, and had set herself to carrying them out without allowing them to lead to an interstellar incident.

"Holding steady at….seventy-five meters, Captain," she advised just a couple of minutes later. "Sorry for getting a little too close."

Her voice was rock steady, he noted with approval, though he did note a bit of sweat on her brow. "Not a problem, Lieutenant Commander. Excellent work."

"The Descari Captain is comming again, Captain. He is once again protesting our close approach."

"Put him through to my station."

She nodded, then noted, "Signal is audio only, Captain. Their data transmission technology seems to be significantly behind our own."

"Understood." A moment later, his speakers crackled.

"Captain! Are you insane? You very nearly ran us over! We will not be treated so in our own space. We demand that your fleet depart immediately!"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I cannot comply. Many of my civilian vessels must undergo maintenance and replenishment before we can reenter hyperspace. As soon as that work is done, we will be on our way."

The voice on the other end of the comm channel hesitated for a moment, then said,"So long as you are gone soon. Your presence brings danger to my people. I will not allow you to bring the Minbari down upon them the way you did the Narn and Drazi. Perform your repairs, then take your vessels and go back where you came from."

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me, Captain," John said calmly. "Once the maintenance tasks have been completed, we will be moving forward. I have no intention of turning back. Don't worry, we'll be gone before you know it."

"How dare you!" he hissed in outrage. "This is sovereign Descari space, not some highway for you to go where you wish."

"Descari space? Surely you are mistaken, Captain. This whole area belongs to the Dilgar."

"The Dilgar? You are insane! The Dilgar were turned back and driven to extinction a generation ago, after nearly wiping out my people. We will not..."

"Oh, that's right," Sheridan broke in, cutting him off. "I remember now. You might try to recall just exactly who it was that stopped the Dilgar advance, and kept your curious little species from sliding into extinction."

The Descari Captain spluttered. "How...How _dare_ you, Captain! We will not..."

"How dare I what, exactly?" John asked, cutting him off again. "How dare I remind you that you wouldn't even be here, if not for the Earth Alliance? How dare I point out that we made the choice to _fight_ for you, to prevent your extinction, while you seem unwilling to simply stand aside to prevent ours? Or how dare I drive my dreadnought over your tiny little shuttle? Because that's exactly what's going to happen in a few hours if you're still sitting there when this fleet is ready to get under way again."

"You...you wouldn't!" The Descari's voice sounded choked, as though he had just realized that he was sitting directly in the path of a one and a half kilometer long metal brick.

John didn't know if the concept of a bug on a windshield had a Descari equivalent, but the Captain was clearly getting the concept. "Are you so sure about that Captain? For the last two and a half years, this war has been making one thing very clear to me. As far as the civilizations of this galaxy are concerned, might makes right. When the Minbari went to war over a misunderstanding, none of our friends and 'allies' said a word. When they began to exterminate us, again silence. Despite what we had done, none of you lifted a finger to stop the Minbari. Only the Drazi helped us. The Vree actively betrayed us. When this fleet arrived in Narn space, they used our desperation to extort supplies from us. When we got to Centauri space, they used their strength to threaten to destroy us. We've been turned away time and time again. Well, I'm through with it. You want to throw your weight around? We'll throw right back. We're transiting your space, Captain. Feel free to try to stand in our way."

His statements were followed by a long pause. Finally, the Descari spoke again, now sounding far more nervous than arrogant. "I...I do not stand before you in just a shuttle, Captain. The Descari navy..."

"Yes, we see them down there, hiding in your inner system. Is that a Scorata class battleship I'm detecting? I hope you have at least two if you want to stop this dreadnought. Then again, the Lexington packs a pretty decent punch as well. Better make it three. Bring them on up, and we'll get down to business. By the way, how many Scorata's do your people have again? Let's see, if I recall correctly, the last time the EA ran a force assessment...admittedly that was a few years ago...you only _had_ three battleships. Your industry and population have't exactly been remarkable since the Dilgar nearly destroyed you. Are you really going to throw away the heart of your fleet trying to stop a bunch of refugees from passing through?"

"We have plenty of battlecruisers and heavy cruisers to do the job, Captain," the Descari said, if anything sounding more nervous than before.

"Oh, that's right. The Scorita and Scorran classes. Such...imaginative naming conventions you have for your vessels. Well then, invite them to the party. We'll be waiting." Sheridan cut the connection.

Takashima looked at him nervously. "Are you really planning on fighting Descari capital ships, Sir?"

"We won't have to, Laurel. The Descari are a proud people, but extremely cautious as well. They threw everything they had into fighting the Dilgar, and were almost destroyed in the process. They've spent the last twenty years rebuilding, but are still a very long way from recovering. I used to pity them. Now I know exactly how they feel. They've spent a massive portion of their very limited budget trying to rebuild their defenses. They won't risk being set back by years just to prove to the Minbari that they aren't helping us."

"How can you be so sure, Captain?" Laurel asked, but before he could respond, her system called for her attention. "The Descari Captain wishes to speak with you again, Sir," she said, clearly impressed.

"Put him through." As soon as the comm link had been established, he asked, "How can I help you, Captain?"

"By being gone from my space as quickly as possible. My government has given you permission to transit. Do not take it the wrong way, Captain, when I tell you that I wish never to hear from you again. If you would take some advice, since you refuse to turn around, then I suggest you head for Llort space."

"And why is that?"

"Because you will find only death if you head for Yolu space, Captain.

That was concerning. "The Yolu are League Members. I know you aren't happy with how we are bulling our way through your space, Captain, but you were also empathetic enough to offer this warning. After the Dilgar war, won't the Yolu be similarly compassionate?"

"The Yolu are part of the League for the trade, not the security. They never really participated in the war, not even when many of us were being slaughtered. They were never really threatened, so they don't view the human intervention with the same respect many of us do." He said that without seeming to notice how at odds it was with his previous stance. "They don't really fear anyone. Not even the Minbari."

"If they don't fear the Minbari, then why would they refuse us transit?"

"They guard their security and neutrality zealously, and their space borne defenses are second to none. They only accepted the mutual defense aspects of the League because they were primarily focused on the Centauri, who had spent centuries pushing species around, to the point that they had even annoyed the Yolu. But the Minbari are not the Centauri. The Yolu respect them, and if a conflict were to arise which they absolutely could not ignore, I think they'd be more likely to join the Minbari than side with the rest of us."

"So they'd just hand us over to the Minbari?"

"No, Captain, they would _destroy_ you. I have heard a rumor. One I believe to be true, but which I cannot prove. This rumor states that a Minbari heavy scout tried to penetrate Yolu space, believing that you might have retreated there. The Yolu blew off it's drive fins, and then towed it back to the nearest Minbari fleet, assuring them that if you humans came to Yolu space, you would receive far worse. This seemed to satisfy the Minbari."

"Could you give me the source of this rumor?"

"I am unaware from where the bulk of the details come. But, I personally witnessed one of the Yolu's Yuan class dreadnoughts towing a Minbari scout ship, shorn of its drive fins, through this very system. I imagine the commander of that Minbari vessel will not soon live down the indignity, but at least he will live. I do not believe the same will be true of you, should you choose to risk heading in that direction.

Sheridan mulled that over. He had indeed been intending on heading next to Yolu space. It seemed revisiting that idea was called for. "Thank you, Captain. You may have just saved a great many lives, perhaps even a species. My apologies for my earlier aggressive stance."

He heard a chuckle from the other end of the line. "I thank you for it, Captain. Now we can prove to the Minbari that we were under duress when we allowed you to pass. Oh, and just for the record Captain; in a confrontation between a Nova and a Scorata, bet on the Scorata."  
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"The final human vessel has left the system,Hiai'sa," the Hiai'i Warrior, his acting First Officer, advised. The words were respectful, but the tone far from it. He had been brought aboard as a cross training endeavor, a Warrior onboard a Religious Caste vessel. Up until the last several hours, the effort had been an unmitigated success. The Hiai'i had been nothing but polite and respectful, and he had seen to his duties with diligence and pride. Something had changed the moment they had detected the human fleet entering the system.

"If you have something to say Hiai'i Ingati, please just say it."

"Why did you let them go Hiai'sa Rathnier? The humans were in our grasp, and we just watched them leave."

Rathnier stifled the immediate response which rose to his lips. Hiding for days under maximum stealth, just floating along in this rings of this gas giant, had perhaps made him a bit cranky. He took a moment to recenter himself. Perhaps this was a teachable moment. Perhaps this exchange of perspectives was exactly what the cross training program was meant to encourage. "And what would you have preferred us to do, Hiai'i Ingati?"

"Attack, of course! Surely you are not afraid."

"You would take a Leshath class scout up against a dreadnaught, heavy cruiser, and combat carrier? I should also note that their exploration vessel is comparably formidable."

"Human warships, and human technology," the Hiai'i said dismissively. We could have simply used our longer range weaponry and our stealth systems to stay safe from any return fire. It might have taken awhile, but we should certainly have been able to cripple, perhaps even destroy their ships."

"And then their Worker vessels as well?"

"Likely they would have scattered. We would have needed to bring in reinforcements to hunt them all down."

"I see. And if this task was so easy, why is it that this fleet has left a trail of dead Minbari warships? A Sharlin war cruiser, another Leshath heavy scout, and a Morshin carrier? Oh, and a heavily armed supply base. Not to mention the entire task force of Sharlins and Tinashis which they killed at the very beginning of their journey."

"So you _are_ afraid of them," Ingati said derisively. "Those were all situations of ambush and surprise. Starkiller used underhanded tactics to destroy his betters. But here, _we_ would have had the surprise. There was no place for them to hide, no ambush for them to lay. They would have been forced to face us directly, or leave their Workers open to our retribution. We could have destroyed them, and ended this intolerable chase."

"I see. And do you suppose any of those other commanders might have thought that they were in a situation free of ambush and surprise?"

"They would not have been so free with their communications if they had known we were here," he said, defensively.

"Perhaps. And speaking of those communications with the Descari, does it not concern you that we would be opening up combat in a location where Descari casualties are a possibility? Particularly when the Descari have not officially given permission for us to be here?"

"It would be on their own heads. They gave the humans permission to pass!"

"Only after Starkiller had threatened violence."

"The Descari were hoping for exactly that. So that they could lie to us! You heard it yourself."

"I heard one individual Descari Captain express his regard for the humans. I do not know how their government or their people feel. I only know that they refused passage to the humans until they were threatened. Jumping to conclusions and condemning a people to death and destruction based upon those conclusions is not the path of Valen."

"So then you claim it was compassion rather than cowardice which stayed your hand?"

Rathnier tilted his head to the side, studying the Warrior. He breathed, banishing the surge of anger which had followed the insult. It had sounded unintentional. No doubt the Warrior would apologize later when he realized his error. For now, best to enlighten him. "It was not. I was following orders."

"We were not ordered to let the humans go!"

"You are correct. We were not. Do you recall what our orders were?"

"Of course. We were to wait here and attempt to locate the humans, and report their location. Which we could certainly do after..."

Rathnier cut him off. "Only if we survived the confrontation, which many other Minbari in more powerful vessels, with more combat oriented missions, have failed to do. Locate and report. Those are our top priorities. Nowhere in our orders does it say we should seek glory, or vengeance, or even satisfaction. Everything must be subordinated to that mission. Nothing may be permitted to prevent its successful implementation. That includes impatience, boredom, or even honor. The mission is all. If we had attacked, we might have been successful. Or we might have been killed, and we would have failed our mission. Do note that none of the Minbari in those other ships we mentioned managed to report these humans. Only when follow-on forces discovered their scattered debris did we then determine where the humans had been, which put us that much farther behind them. Now we have a position, and can report it immediately."

The Warrior seemed thoughtful, though not yet convinced. "Could we not have reported and then attacked?"

"The tachyon stream may very well have been detected, which would have substantially reduced our chances of success, and likely would also have driven the humans to change their course, making it harder for our forces to intercept them. As it now stands, we know exactly where they are. There is a rapid reaction force stationed in the Proxima system. Our signal will allow them to rapidly deploy here and finally catch the humans. The other picket ships like ourselves can spread out and encircle the humans to prevent their escape."

"But...haven't they already escaped, Hiai'sa? They left the system, and it will be some time before that force can get here. And where exactly would our picket ships go? What location do they surround? It seems to me that your plan requires us to know where the humans are going."

"But we _do_ know where they are going, Ingati."

"We do?"

"Yes. They are headed for Llort space. Aside from the fact that the Descari Captain was kind enough to tell us, Yolu space is indeed a death trap for the humans. Starkiller was kind enough to tell us that he refuses to turn around. The only other option that would leave for the humans would be to head deeper into Descari space and go to T'Lad'Tha. The only additional options T'Lad'Tha gives them are to head back into Earth Alliance space, or to head for our friends the Vree. Not even Starkiller is crazy enough to make those choices."  
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 **T'Lad'Tha, Descari Space - Exodus Fleet - March, 2249**

The fleet spilled into the T'Lad'Tha system, for once using the local jumpgate. Sheridan wanted to take advantage of the Descari approval for movement through their space. Granted, the Descari had been expecting him to use that approval to head _out_ of Descari space and become a problem for the Llort instead, but permission was permission. The faster he could get replenishment underway, the faster he could choose a path and get the fleet moving. He was starting to get that itch again, which meant that trouble was approaching.

He walked off the bridge, leaving Laurel in charge, and headed down to his quarters. Using his personal station to open up a comm channel, he contacted the Eratosthenes and asked for Gideon. He was patched through to Matt within seconds.

"Captain, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I have a mission. A confidential one. Can you secure this communication?"

"Just a moment, Captain." In less than a minute he was back, the image background clearly showing that he had moved to another, much smaller room. "What have you got for me, Sir?"

"It's not for you in particular, Matt. You'll need to pick one of your officers. It's about the charts we got from the Abbai. They indicate that there is a covert hyperspace route leading from this system to Orion. One that's not on any of our other charts. One that I didn't know about, and if I didn't know about it, then not many people in the EA could have. We need to see if that route actually exists. It's a test of these Abbai charts. If this route is real, then it adds credence to all of these other hidden paths and systems that are on the rimward end of the map."

"That makes sense, Captain. I was wondering why we headed this way. It only seemed to allow us to turn around and head back coreward into Markab space, pretty much back into the teeth of the Minbari pursuit; or to head into Vree space, which would be nearly as bad."

"Agreed. Assign an officer to commandeer one of the shuttles the Drazi gave us, whichever is likely to be the fastest. Have him or her attempt to travel this path. Confirm the hyperspace conditions. On the other end, see if the Orion colony is still holding out. I know it's a long shot, but if anybody could do it, I'd bet on that Governor Zane. She was a real fighter. Then head back here at best speed. I don't want to be sitting around for too long. At that point we'll decide if we should try sneaking into Orion, or if we should turn around and head for Llort space.

"I'll make it happen, Captain. I know just the officer."  
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Less than forty-eight hours later, Sheridan was awoken to the insistent chiming of the wall comm unit in his quarters. It was his sleep cycle, which meant this was likely something urgent. Checking the wall chrono, he saw that he had been asleep for less than three hours. Cursing, he activated the comm for audio only. "Go."

It was Takashima. "I'm sorry to wake you, Captain, but you asked to be notified the second the Drazi shuttle Rokai reemerged into normal space. It did so about ninety seconds ago."

"That was fast."

"Yes, Captain. Sir, we were immediately contacted by Lieutenant Sakai. She is demanding to speak with you immediately."

Alarms began to go off in Sheridan's head, but he said only, "Put her through."

His order was acknowledged only by the slight chirp of a new line being patched through. "Captain, Sheridan?" a new voice asked.

"Lieutenant Sakai, was your mission successful?"

"Yes, Captain. The route was tricky to follow, but I managed it. It seems some sort of odd reflectance in hyperspace was sending a portion of the Orion beacon this way. It's weak, and pretty much impossible to notice unless you're actually in it, but it works. I'm not sure if it was the Descari or not, but someone tuned the local beacon to manually replicate the effect. A pretty decent hyperspace route, and nearly impossible to detect unless you knew it was there in the first place."

"And the Orion colonies?"

"No sign of habitation, much less resistance, Captain. I'm sorry. But we have another problem, Sir."

 _Here it comes_. "And that is?"

"Sir, I picked up a group of over three hundred Minbari ships charging hard across the system. They were mostly smaller models, maybe corvettes or frigates. Not Tinashi's, a bit smaller than that. There were also three really big bast...ahh...capital ships. Almost identical to a Sharlin but even bigger. I turned around and got out of there, fast. They probably saw me, but hopefully assumed I was a Drazi trader." She paused, as though collecting her thoughts. "Sir, as I headed back this way, I kept a tight watch on the beacon. Several hours later, the signal strength dropped by forty-two percent, and it stayed down. Captain, there's only one reason that would be the case."

"The Minbari know about this hidden route," Sheridan said it for her. "And they are travelling up it right now."

"Yes, Sir. I estimate that they can be no more than eight hours behind me."

"Good work, Lieutenant. Now get back to your ship. The fleet will be moving out within the next thirty minutes."  
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The Council of Captains was no more, but it was the same old faces which gathered for Captain John Sheridan's emergency staff meeting. Due to the looming time constraints, the meeting was being carried out via comm link. As soon as the last of the Captains had joined, Sheridan launched into the meeting, without regard for niceties. "Alright folks. I want this fleet underway in the next fifteen minutes. That gives us five for this meeting. I will leave time for a few questions, but for now, listen hard.

"We have over three hundred Minbari warships headed this way fast. Expert analysis of the data Lieutenant Sakai returned to us has IDed the greater bulk of these vessels as Esharan class frigates. Much lighter armed than a Tinashi, but they'd still take apart that scout ship we fought without breaking a sweat. There's also a trio of what we are assuming to be Shargoti class battlecruisers. It's an evolution of the Sharlin class. Slightly upgunned; massively uparmored. They will be here in less than eight hours, which means we need to be long gone by then. Given the speed this fleet moves at, that's going to be a challenge.

"That leaves the question of destination. Obviously, Orion is out. I was considering heading for Llort space, as the Descari Captain recommended. However, the presence and current heading of the Minbari most likely means that the Descari sold us out. The Minbari are probably heading for Llort, and there may be other forces there to cut us off. In addition, as Commander Gideon pointed out to me earlier, heading for Markab space turns us coreward again. It would also place us in a noose, with Minbari units coreward, spinward, rimward, and antispinward of us. Once we're in that kind of a box, there's no getting out again. No, so far as I can see, there's really only one answer."

"Please tell me you're not thinking of heading for Vree space," Lochley said in horror. "They're incredibly advanced, and they've sided with the Minbari."

"We have only the Abbai's word on that, and while I see no reason for them to lie, they might also be mistaken. Besides, even if the Vree have sided with the Minbari, we have seen no sign of them hunting for us. Which may very well mean that their space is as loosely patrolled as it has ever been. We may be able to sneak or even fight our way through. And if we get out of here fast enough, the Minbari may not realize where we are headed, and assume that Llort is still the plan. If they pass us by while we are on the route to Vreetan, that certainly opens up some additional options, in case we are forced to retreat from Vree space. If, on the other hand, the Minbari end up chasing us down this hyperspace route, then I have some ideas of how to survive and escape once we get to Vreetan. I won't lie to you. Things don't look good, and our odds aren't great. But I think this plan gives us a better shot than any of the other options. Questions?"

There was a moment's silence, until Commander Sinclair said, "Just give us our marching orders, Captain. We're almost out of time."

"We'll be changing our travel order. The Nova will be on point, heading up the fleet. If we have to break through any Vree blocking forces, it's got the best shot. The Lexington and Midway will assume the trailing slot. You may need to keep the Minbari at bay," he said, making eye contact with both Lochley and Sinclair. "To that end, I want every nuke the fleet is carrying prepped and ready for launch, both fighter and ship borne. The Nova may be out of energy mines, but we've got plenty of other things that go boom. None of those nukes are nearly as powerful as energy mines. Almost all are two megatons or below. But, if we use them liberally, our improved accuracy due to telepathy ought to make up for it. Especially given we will be in hyperspace. Commander Bester has advised me that hyperspace seems to have an enhancement effect on telepathic abilities. We're going to put that to good use."

John paused and met all of their eyes one more time. "That's it. I'll have further orders once we're in transit, but for right now, we need to get moving. Good luck people. Godspeed."


	14. Chapter 13 - Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 13 - Rock and a Hard Place

 **Hyperspace, En Route to Vreetan - Exodus Fleet - March, 2249**

Lieutenant Catherine Sakai stretched her legs and tried again to pop out the kink in her back. She had been in this damned Drazi shuttle for over sixty hours now, with less than five hours sleep in that entire time. She was tired, cranky, and smelled absolutely terrible. And these damned Drazi seats just weren't made for human butts!

Worse, she was nauseous from lack of sleep, freeze dried rations, and nearly three days of zero-G. Not that she was under zero-G the entire time. This mission had meant a lot of acceleration, and the engines on this bucket could kick, which simulated gravity quite nicely...when they were on. But the continuous shifting back and forth from acceleration to zero-G was only aggravating her nausea. She didn't know how Jeffrey and the other men and women assigned to the zero-G warships handled it. She did know it was starting to become a medical concern for many of them, despite the frequent trips to vessels under spin, and even more frequent exercise regimen.

Worse still, she had almost gotten out of this tin can. Captain Sheridan had ordered her to get back to the Eratosthenes. She'd been preparing for boarding when some bright officer, perhaps even Sheridan himself, had gotten the idea that a Drazi shuttle would make a great rear lookout. On the unlikely possibility that the Minbari would head this direction, she would be the first to notice them, so that she could warn the rest of the fleet. And, while she would hopefully see the Minbari, they would see only a Drazi shuttle, likely an isolated trader.

Trying again to get the kinks out of her legs, Catherine monitored her velocity. It wouldn't do to overtake the fleet, but they were just so damned _slow_. She knew that Sheridan had prepared for a bit of a sprint, by stacking the slowest vessels to the front and the faster ones behind. As spread out as the fleet was, if they needed to run they could get a bit of a boost in just by the faster vessels stacking up on the slower ones further ahead. That benefit wouldn't last long though, and in the grand scheme of things was really of minimal value.

Drinking more cold coffee out of a spacer's bulb in an attempt to stay awake, she almost missed the spike on her sensors. Sweeping her sensors back and forth across her rear track, all she saw were the swirling hues of hyperspace. Had she been imagining things? On instinct, she rotated the shuttle 180 degrees, bringing her forward sensors to bear. They were were a bit more sensitive, though the improvement was really rather minimal. Still, she swept the rear track again. _What was that?_ She zoomed the sensors in on a particular point, adjusting them for maximum sensitivity, then analyzing the results. _Oh, shit._  
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"Message coming through from Lieutenant Sakai, Captain," Takashima advised him.

Sheridan grunted. The Nova was currently riding at the head of the fleet; the tip of the spear in case they should run into trouble in Vreetan. If a message was coming through from the Lieutenant, it meant that she had requested it be relayed through the fleet, transmitted on forward from one ship to another, until it finally made it to him. That meant it was almost certainly _not_ good news. "Put her through to my panel."

The moment Catherine's face appeared on his screen, she got to the point, not even waiting for his acknowledgement. "Bad news, Captain, the Minbari are following us."

"How did they know which route we picked? They should have expected us to go any direction _except_ this one."

"They didn't, Captain. We must have left something behind in T'Lad'Tha that tipped them off to our presence. That, or the Descari ratted on us. But, there are only three ways out of T'Lad'Tha other than the way they came in. It looks like they split their fleet and sent a force down each route. At least, that's my guess, since there are only one hundred frigates and one Sharlin coming up behind us."

"Shargoti," Sheridan corrected her absentmindedly, his eyes drifting as his full attention focused on the looming catastrophe.

"Aye, Sir. They should catch up to my position within the next three hours. They'll certainly have detected the fleet at least a little before then. At that point it's only another three hours to catch the fleet. But, depending upon their firing range, they could attack us significantly earlier than that."

He took a breath and met her eyes again. "Better reel it in, Lieutenant. The area you're flying through is about to get very hot. Good work."

"Thank you, Captain."

Cutting the signal, John sent out a request to all of the Captains, convening an emergency staff meeting over secured comms. Over the course of the next two minutes, they each checked in, from their quarters or other private locations. They waited quietly for him to begin. "Lieutenant Sakai has just detected Minbari vessels closing in on us from the rear. They haven't detected us yet, but that won't last. Within a few hours, well short of Vreetan, they will detect us. A few hours after that, they will be within weapons range." He watched as their faces tightened. He tried to ignore the accusing glares coming from Elizabeth and Sandra, and even Bester. John noted with grim amusement that, even after all of this time, he still could not think of the man by his first name. He was less amused by the 'I told you so' expression on his ex-wife's face. It was an expression he was all too familiar with. No doubt the three of them, and possibly the others as well, blamed him for bringing them in this direction. It had been his call, after all. Perhaps if they had chanced heading for the Yolu, or even the Tal-Kona'Sha, they wouldn't be facing the grim odds they were now. But, that was the burden of command, and he'd be damned if he'd wish for that asinine Council of Captains back, or even waste time second guessing himself.

"I won't lie to you. The odds aren't good. But they have been this bad a time or two before. So we make the best plans we can, and we execute them to the best of our ability. For now, nothing has changed, save that we know the enemy is coming up on us. We still need the Nova up front, to deal with anything we find in Vreetan. Besides, we're out of energy mines, and no suicide play by a single dreadnought will so much as slow down that force. We have to lose them.

"To that end, we will be increasing the current speed of the fleet by fifteen percent. Since we have the faster vessels to the rear of the slower ones, this is going to cause the fleet to start to stack up. By the time we are ready to jump into Vreetan, we should be in a pretty tight knot. The Eratosthenes and the Mother will move to the front of the fleet, so that we can re-enter normal space through three jump points rather than one. We will do our best to jump into the system less than one AU short of the Vreetan jumpgate. We will then dash to the jumpgate and use it to re-enter hyperspace, and move on to our next destination."

"Which is?" Sinclair asked.

"Undetermined at this time. There are six routes leading away from Vreetan, other than the way we came in. There are different pros and cons for each of them. It will largely depend upon how this maneuver goes. If we've managed to break contact with the Minbari, then we go where they think we won't. Maybe they'll be kind enough to head in the wrong direction, and we'll be free and clear. At the very least, they'll be forced to divide their current force by six. Of course, if we haven't managed to break contact, then they'll just continue to follow us, and we'll be even worse off than we are now. So, breaking contact is the all important part, which makes what happens in Vreetan critical.

"There's a good chance we might have to engage the Vree, or that the Minbari will have damaged or destroyed our rear guard. We could have many damaged civilian ships, or everything may have gone off without a hitch. We can't decide on a final direction until the last moment, when we know our exact circumstances. We need to be prepared for the possibility that some of us in this room won't survive that long, including me. Remember your chain of command," he said, pointedly making eye contact with all of them, rather than a select few. "If I don't make it, that puts Elizabeth in charge. Jeff is next, followed by Sandra, then...Alfred...then Matthew. God help us if you have to take command, Michael."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or relieved to hear you say that, Captain,"Garibaldi replied. "Let's just go with 'in complete agreement.'"

John nodded in amusement, then continued, "We obviously won't have time to do any replenishment or maintenance while in Vreetan. Even with underway replenishment, we're liable to have ships running out of fuel, or breaking down. We're going to get all of our tugs up and running, to grab as many as possible. We have to accept that if enough vessels break down, we may need to leave some behind." The grim looks returned at this comment, but no one argued. "Once we're enroute to the next system, we'll need to slow back down to our previous velocity, or we'll bypass our slowest vessels and increase the rate of breakdowns."

"Captain," Bester cut in, "if we don't have time for replenishment or maintenance in Vreetan, then what is the point of going in at all? Why risk fighting the Vree, and putting our vessels through not one but two additional hyperspace transitions? Wouldn't it be wiser to just stay in hyperspace right up to the beacon, and transition directly onto another route without bothering to go into Vreetan?"

"A valid question, Commander. We're jumping into Vreetan because it's the only way to disengage with the Minbari. Even with the increase in speed, they're going to overtake us. We need to not only slow them down, we need to push them back; buy ourselves some breathing room. The only way to do that is to take a little jaunt through Vreetan. To that end, I am initiating Operation Plan Nuclear Rain. The relevant ships are already in place. All intership transfers of nuclear devices should be carried out within the next three hours. I expect all personnel involved to be fully briefed within the hour. Questions?"

"How much of our nuclear stockpile are you planning to use on this operation?" Lochley asked.

"About half."

"That's a lot of nukes, Captain," Levitt noted. "General Lefcourt had a awful lot assigned to the fleet. To the point that Earthgov was complaining quite loudly. I have no idea how many strings he had to pull to get them all. Are you sure you need that many?"

"There are a lot of Minbari coming up behind us. And these aren't energy mines. Most of our fighter launched nukes run in the fifty to one hundred kiloton range. That's a tenth of a percent as powerful as our energy mines, and we used up nearly all of those to delay a single Minbari vessel. Even using our telepaths to maximum effect to improve accuracy, we'll need to use a lot of ordinance. Frankly I wouldn't think it was possible at all if Commander Bester hadn't briefed me on the augmentary effect hyperspace seems to have on telepathic abilities. That should give us just enough accuracy at range with our missile launches to force the Minbari back, and maybe even get a few kills."

"We'll need every kill we can get," Sinclair noted. "I'm sure it's occurred to you, John, that we are trying to use our Starfuries to push back a force that is capable of, probably is, carrying over six hundred Nials. Not to long ago we needed a six to one advantage to have a hope of victory in a fighter engagement. Now we're facing a six to one deficit."

"Which is why we're pulling out all the stops on the nuclear front. It's just like with the Sharlin that chased us into Epsilon. They're coming at us, and can't afford to stray too far from the beacon path. Multiple simultaneous detonations are going to cause a real mess in hyperspace, possibly even more so than fewer, more powerful blasts. The Minbari will be driving right into that muck. Their ships can probably handle it, but I'm hoping their fighters can't. Frankly, I'd authorize the use of even more nukes to slow them down, if I didn't need the rest for mining our point of entry."

"Wait," Sinclair said, holding up his hand, "you're planning on using _all_ of our nukes?"

"We'll keep a handful for special occasions. But yes, I plan to essentially clean out the cupboards."

"And what do we use the next time we're in this situation?" Levitt asked tersely.

"We cross that bridge when we come to it, Commander. But we need to survive this bridge if we hope to see that next one. Nuclear Rain should slow the Minbari down, maybe even push them back a bit. It won't be enough. We'll have to slow them to a crawl once they get into normal space if we are to have any hope of being far enough ahead that they don't spot which route we took. We're going to toss out the rest of our nukes and cover the area around our emergence. We start them detonating at random the moment the Minbari are detected. If the Minbari jump in using our same entry point, they'll have a giant mess on their hands. I'm hoping they assume we're planning to follow our usual procedures and run and hide for the outer system. If they jump in early and attempt to catch us out there, they'll have bought us the time we need."

"But a minefield can't be aimed like fighter launched missiles? How do you expect it to have any effect at all?"

"Well, since most of our heavier nukes can't be mounted on fighter missiles, they go into the minefield by default. We're talking about everything from 500 kilotons to 50 megatons. We also know their stealth is less effective at shorter ranges. Since we are mining what we hope will be their ingress point, some of the mines may actually be able to get a sensor lock detonation, despite their poorer detection capabilities. Between that, the bigger bangs, and the random detonation pattern we'll be setting off, we'll hopefully be able to at least slow the Minbari down.

"Why not pull a Bonehead Maneuver, like you were considering in Epsilon?" she pressed. "It would save half our nukes for a rainy day, and the blast would be even larger anyway."

"I certainly thought about it, Commander. Two reasons. First, it would require that we sacrifice at least one of our jump capable ships, and we only have five. Two, the Vree gate is placed extremely close to their homeworld. It is just outside the range of their planetary defenses, presumably to avoid an accidental hit in the event of an attack. So we can access it without having to worry about their fixed homeworld defenses. However, if we were to blow it, we'd likely be wiping out all life on their planet. It probably wouldn't cause species extinction, but that's still billions of civilian lives. We don't know for certain that the Abbai were correct about the Vree siding with the Minbari. Even if we did, I don't know that I would condone that type of butchery."

Silence met his words, until Sinclair added quietly, "Three, we still have the option if things go badly for us."

"And if the Minbari anticipate we are heading for the jumpgate, and jump in closer into the system?" Gideon asked "Or if they use the jumpgate itself for system entry? Or what if the Vree have a blocking force the Nova can't punch through?"

Sheridan sighed. "Then we break up the band. All military ships, except the Eratosthenes, will engage the enemy forces and do as much damage as possible. I will be transmitting orders to the civilian Captains shortly. They will divide the civilian ships into seven roughly equal fleets. Should this eventuality come to pass, fleets one through six will attempt to run past the enemy and get into hyperspace, they will then each take one of the hyperspace routes, in the hopes that some of them can get away. The seventh fleet will stack up on the Eratosthenes, who will lead them out into hyperspace in the hopes of finding a route to someplace else. They will not be leaving a trail of beacons for the Minbari to follow."

"Captain," Jeff said softly, "that task is almost certain suicide. It would take a miracle to find another world on a single attempt."

"If things turn that far south, Commander, then all seven fleets are on suicide missions. We just hope and pray that it doesn't come to that. Or that, if it does, at least one of them gets their miracle." He met all of their eyes. "We're out of time, people. Get to it."  
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"Susan," Lieutenant Jason Ironheart, newly assigned Squadron Commander for Red Delta, called as she raced into the ready room. "You have a call from Fleet Security on comms. She said it was urgent. Take it in my office, but make it quick. We launch in five."

 _What the hell?_ Susan thought, rushing toward the claustrophobic box Ironheart called an office. _It can't be Tessa. She's the one who insisted on maintaining a strict cover._ But, once she had closed the door and activated the comm panel, it was indeed Tessa's face which appeared.

She wasted no time on pleasantries. "Susan. I need to meet with you right now. Bring Talia and Lyta."

 _What the frag?_ "Tessa, in case you missed it, the fleet is on red alert. The Minbari are about to rear end us, and not in a way that some people might consider a good time. Talia and Lyta are already at their posts, and I'm launching to take on several hundred Minbari fighters in less than four minutes."

Tessa blanched at the news. "Is it really as bad as all that?"

"Yes. I'm probably not supposed to have told you any of that stuff, but what's one more secret between friends? Whatever you've got, it's going to have to wait to see if any of us survive the next few hours."

"Frag. Fine, but assuming we do all survive, I want to see the three of you the moment this emergency has passed. Until then, is there anything I can do?"

"Grab a bigger gun, in case they try another boarding action. Oh, and maybe say a prayer."

"Really? A prayer?"

"I'll take any help I can get right now."  
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Lieutenant Catherine Sakai was finally within visual sight of the fleet. At the very rear were the Midway and the Lexington. Just a little longer now, and she could finally get back aboard the Eratosthenes where she belonged. She looked at the Lexington. Jeff was in command of it now. He might have to use his new ship to try to take on that giant Minbari fleet she had seen. That was a confrontation that he had no chance of surviving. She prayed there was another option.

She keyed her comms unit to transmit to the Midway and Lexington simultaneously. Better remind them she was about to pass. Their gunners were liable to be getting pretty nervous about now. "This is the shuttle Rokai. Requesting permission to pass the perimeter, heading for berthing on board the Eratosthenes."

It only took a moment to get a response from the Midway. "Hang on a tick, Rokai. Space is about to get very crowded. We'll let you know when you can pass."

A moment later, Starfuries started kicking out of the Midway. A few launched from the Lexington as well. Within moments they had formed up into four squadrons. As one, they kicked in thrust and shot off in the direction of the Minbari, passing by her shuttle in just a few seconds. As they passed her, she was clearly able to make out the heavily laden hardpoints on each of their wings. They were armed for bear. Or rather, for Minbari. _Good luck, guys._ She knew that many of them might never return.

A few moments later Starfuries from further up the fleet began trickling back to the Midway and Lex. It looked like those two vessels would be staging all of the fleet's Starfuries for the fight ahead. They'd probably rotate four squadrons at a time into the fight, keeping a constant presence going while the other four squadrons returned to rearm.

"Shuttle Rokai," her comms crackled, once the activity had died down, "Midway. You are now cleared to pass. Better hurry. Things are liable to get pretty exciting around here before too much longer."

"Acknowledged, Midway. Good luck."  
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"Alyt Vastor," Hiai'sa Duraal said to him conversationally, walking over to stand next to him. "No further sign of that Drazi shuttle. Given how fast they ran, we must have put quite the scare in them."

Vastor chuckled fondly at his First Officer's comment. "Can you blame them Duraal? A single shuttle faced with an approaching warfleet? Given the recent hostilities between our peoples, they were no doubt terrified."

"Should we have sent out Nials to haul them in? We are supposed to have the Drazi under quarantine."

"I doubt they escaped the blockade. No doubt they are traders, out here well before the Zahbar incident. Our mission is to run down the human fleet, not play shephard to some hapless Drazi merchants."

"I just want to be _doing_ something, Alyt. I feel that we are wasting our time running down this route. We _know_ where the humans are. The report said they were headed for Llort space. To be taking a third of the fleet off on this tangent..."

"And yet we found spent fuel canisters in T'lad'tha. The kind we know are used by a number of the human ships. It is possible they stopped there for repairs."

"Yes, but those rods could have been from long before the war. The humans traded extensively in the region of space. Besides, even if they were there, they'd hardly be heading for Vree space. Not after the Vree declared their support for our cause."

"Ahh, but that happened after this fleet had left the Sol system. The humans might not even know about that. And it is best that we cover every possibility. To date this chase has been rather haphazard. We've been assuming that our technological advantages would just hand the humans to us. They've demonstrated a real penchant for finding the holes in every net we have cast so far. If we want to stop them from escaping, we need to ensure that we leave them no possible routes for escape. That we investigate and eliminate every possibility. You are most likely correct that the humans are nowhere near here. But ensuring that is the case is far from a waste of time."

"As you say, Alyt."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than the Kor manning sensors called out, "The sensors have made contact."

Duraal turned to him, now in a lighter mood. "The Drazi again, Kor?"

The Warrior stared at the readings for a few seconds without responding, then looked up and met the First Officer's gaze. "Four squadrons of human Starfuries. They are headed this way under high acceleration."

Duraal grunted as though kicked in the stomach. Turning back to Vastor, he said, "It seems, Alyt, that your wisdom was more valuable than I could understand. I thank you for sharing it."

"The human fighters are launching missiles," the Kor announced. "Forty-eight missiles inbound."

"At this range?" the Alyt said to Duraal. "They'll be lucky to get a single missile into range of us. Despite his words, however, a loud rumbling was soon heard through the hull, and the ship rocked and shook. "It seems my wisdom is not as complete as you believed, Duraal. If this vessel is being rocked by these detonations, then our Esharan frigates may very well be taking damage. Status of our stealth systems?"

"Fully operational, Alyt." called out the Hiai'i assigned to monitor, maintain, and operate those systems.

"Then the humans must have substantially increased the power of their fighter launched nuclear warheads."

"Sir," Duraal offered, "it would seem the humans have made a mistake. Our _frigates_ outnumber their fighters two to one. May I suggest we launch our fighters and wipe these vermin from our path?"

"Agreed, Durall."

Moments later the vessels of the fleet began launching their fighters into space. A short time after that, Durall reported, "All fifty-two wings formed up, Alyt."

"Attack."

The Minbari fighters swept forwards, streaking towards the massively outnumbered human craft. Durall expected the humans to turn and flee. Instead, they opened fire again at extended range. "Massive missile launch...multiple salvos...seven launches per Starfury."

Vastor grunted. "They flushed their racks at us? Why would they…? Scan those missiles. Are we detecting radiologicals?"

"That would be an awful lot of nukes for the humans to be using, Alyt," Duraal noted as he watched the sensor operator run the scans. He received a short nod from the Minbari. "Confirmed, Alyt. At least some of those missiles are nuclear."

"Order our Nials to slow and shoot down as many as possible. It seems they were attempting to draw out our fighters. It shouldn't do them much good. The fighter stealth systems should keep them from too much harm."

The moment the missiles came into range, the Nials opened fire, killing them in droves. The humans had launched well over three hundred missiles, but with over six hundred fighters, the Minbari eviscerated the flights of missiles. However, it was still an awful lot of missiles to kill, and the humans had elected to use a time on target attack, adjusting the speed of each successive salvo so that they all arrived at roughly the same time. There were nearly fifty left when they all detonated simultaneously, just a little short of the Minbari formation. Which is when the Minbari discovered that _all_ of the missiles were nuclear.

"Simultaneous detonations, Alyt," Duraal noted. He had walked to the sensor station and was reviewing the displays directly. "All nuclear. Those detonations are not more powerful than anticipated, but seem to be far more accurate. Reading... _Valen's name_...reading nearly two hundred of our fighters destroyed. My apologies, Alyt. My rash suggestion has killed many of our Warriors."

"Ni Moshna, Duraal. I did not see it coming either. The humans have used up their missiles. Destroy those fighters!"

"Our surviving Nials are moving forward again now, Alyt. The Starfuries are pulling back now….new contact!" he called out in consternation. "I am reading four additional squadrons of Starfuries coming into range, bypassing the previous squadrons. Reading radiological emissions from those craft."

Vastor didn't hesitate. "Pull our Nials back immediately. Have them return to their home ships."

"Alyt?" Duraal asked in shock.

"I am not going to lose more fighters to this ridiculous attack. It is a delaying tactic at best. Have the Nials reboard our ships," he repeated. "Once they are aboard, we will press the fleet forward, using our point defense weapons to deal with any inbound missiles. The humans will have a much harder time slowing us down."

"Si dromo."

"And keep an eye on the accuracy of those weapons. I don't like how lucky they have gotten. If this keeps up, we may have to consider the possibility that the humans have figured out a way to compensate for our stealth systems."  
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Commander Alfred Bester led the second contingent of fighters past the first. "Commander Lochley," he commed to the CAG, who was heading back to rearm with the rest, "excellent shooting."

"It wouldn't have been, if it hadn't been for our telepaths. See if the Minbari are willing to let us wipe out some more of their fighters. If not, hold the line 'till we get back."

"Acknowledged, Commander. Black Omega Leader out." After cutting the channel, Bester began spreading out his four squadrons, placing them into a firing line. It had looked for a moment as if the Nials would make another try for them, but then they had pulled back to their ships. _Too bad_ , he thought. _The next part will be harder._

It looked like that part was starting now, as the entire Minbari fleet increased speed, coming right for them. "All fighters, begin random evasive maneuvers. Minbari point defense is incredibly long ranged. Even this far out they could…" His words were interrupted as a green bolt streaked forward and blotted one of Ironheart's fighters from the sky. "Launch first salvo," he ordered, and forty-seven nukes went streaking towards the Minbari. _This is the tricky part. We have to make just eight missiles per Starfury last until Elizabeth gets back._ He didn't even notice that he had thought of the mundane by her first name. "Maintain evasive maneuvers. We hold the line."  
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"This is intolerable," Duraal hissed. "What can they hope to accomplish by this tactic? And how many nuclear weapons can they possibly have?" The humans had rotated their formation a half dozen times already, and each time they came with their weapons racks loaded with their fission warheads.

"I cannot answer the second question, Hiai'sa," Vastor stated. "But, as to the first, they are clearly trying to buy time. For what, I know not. But as tricky as these humans have been, I can only say that I would rather they not get that time." He paused and thought for a second. "Relaunch our fighters. We will perform a joint push, with the fighters supplementing our own interceptors. We spread out around the beacon signal, as much as is safe. This should minimize the effectiveness of their weapons, while the increased point defense will reduce it even more. We run right over the top of them. It will likely mean increased losses, but once that screen is out of the way, we can close on and destroy their fleet."

"Fighters launched," Durall stated a few moments later.

"Fayzen shok!"  
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"Black Omega Leader, you are cleared for docking."

Bester guided his damaged Starfury towards the Midway docking bay. It had been a very long and trying day, the last couple of hours in particular, and he was beyond exhausted. He was getting more than punchy. He probably shouldn't have been flying anymore, but it wasn't like anyone was going to dock for him. Pushing that level of telepathy that hard for that long would have had him bone weary alone. But he had also been responsible for piloting and fighting his Starfury through intense combat maneuvers, as well as commanding four squadrons throughout the engagement.

That engagement had gotten very messy at the end. He had been commanding the firing line, Lochley back and rearming, when the Minbari had made their big push. Hundreds of fighters moving forward in perfect coordination with their frigates. They had spread out to weaken his fire, and were carefully interlocking their point defense. He had ordered salvo after salvo of nukes, trying to stop them. Nothing had worked. He had even tried to target limited portions of their line at once. A few limited hits, but nothing that would stop the Minbari. They had grown closer, and their fire had grown more accurate and deadly. He was down nearly two squadrons...almost half his force….when he had finally cut and run, retreating under maximum accelleration. Staying would only have gotten everyone killed.

The Nials were faster. Seeing his line broken, they surged ahead, intent on the kill. Chasing down his broken formation. They would run him under and slaughter his entire force. His exhausted pilots stood no chance in a furball with those killers.

Fortunately for him and his pilots, the Minbari didn't seem to be very good at counting. He had retained a single nuke on each of his Starfuries. Just as the Nials were closing into firing range, his entire force spun as one and released their final salvo. The range was so close that he actually lost a couple Starfuries to the blast. His own and several others had also gotten more than a little cooked, but the Nials were practically wiped out. Three quarters of the remaining Nials simply ceased to exist. It was really too bad nuke kills didn't count towards Ace status. Ivanova and Ironheart would _never_ catch him. The surviving Nials ran for the relative safety of their mother ships.

Those frigates seemed far less impressed, continuing to charge steadily forward, taking his force under long range fire. He had once again turned to run, just in time to see Lochley's returning force release three salvos at a limited portion of the Minbari line. Fifteen Esharan class frigates had broken up under those nuclear fireballs, and the Minbari had finally had enough. They pulled back to the edge of sensor range, just far enough to ensure they didn't lose contact.

Lochley took up position to guard the back door, but it looked like the fight was over for now. The Minbari were ceding the hyperspace chase. No doubt they planned to overtake the Exodus fleet in normal space, where the terrain would favor them far more. Things were only going to get harder, but this was at least a minor victory. Hopefully he could catch a couple of hours of sleep before the fecal matter struck the rotary impeller once again.

He felt and heard the solid clank of his Starfury being secured, and his head jerked up. "Wha…?" While he had been wool gathering, he had somehow docked his fighter. He had no memory at all of anything after the voice telling him he had been approved for docking. That was a complex and somewhat dangerous procedure. It certainly shouldn't have been performed in a semiconscious state.

Air. He needed air, and to be up and walking around. He barely remembered to ensure the bay was pressurized before popping the seals on his cockpit. The ones on his helmet followed shortly thereafter. He climbed out of his fighter and, on sheer instinct, began to perform his post flight inspection.

It took several moments for the strange sound to register on his ears. He spun around, trying to understand what it was. Applause. The hanger crew had come out into the bay, and they were cheering for him. God he hated mundanes. He hated their fake applause. Their condescension. The way they always feared and hated any telepath. He wished he had been able to dock on the Mother, where he could be surrounded by other telepaths. But he had to operate from here for now, which meant dealing with the mundanes.

Worst of all, he was so tired, his telepathy so exhausted, that all of his barriers were down. The stench of their emotions was washing over him already. The fear, the suspicion, the loathing... _wait...what?_ He looked about him in confusion, as more crewmembers arrived in the hangar bay and joined in the cheers. This couldn't be right. There was no hate. No suspicion. Not a hint of loathing. Instead they were feeling….pride. And hope. And that other thing, that was...camaraderie? And maybe...hero worship? _That...that's not possible. All mundanes hate telepaths...don't they?_

Alfred Bester looked around the hangar bay at the normals who had come out to meet him. He wore a very confused and exhausted look on his face, but he managed to give them all a little wave. When the cheering finally abated, and the crew went back to their duties, he sat down on the hangar floor and leaned back against his Starfury. Staring up at the ceiling, he spoke to himself. "Huh...we might actually survive this thing." And then he slept.  
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"Closing on Vreetan jump gate, Captain. If we're going to jump in before then, we should do so in the next ten minutes."

John Sheridan gave a sigh of relief at his First Officer's pronouncement. They had made it this far. That in itself was more than a little surprising. He had been nearly shocked when Bester and Lochley had managed to get the Minbari to pull back. Now they just needed to make it through the Vreetan system fast enough to disengage with the Minbari altogether. "We might actually survive this thing," he muttered to himself. Louder, he responded, "Make certain that all of the ships we have designated for mine laying are prepared and in position. We're only going to get one shot at this, and that field has got to be thick if it's going to have a prayer of stopping the Minbari. I want them to get started the moment they break into normal space."

"Aye, Captain." Takashima was certainly good. She did the job flawlessly, and without question. She would certainly have made a viable replacement for either Sandra or Elizabeth, if that had been necessary. John was just as glad it had not been. He wasn't quite as glad that he could see no immediate career path for Laurel. A few minutes later, she turned back to him and reported, "All ships report ready, Captain. We can break into normal space at any time."

"Activate jump drive." The swirling blue tones of a hyperspace exit vortex sprung up on the main screen, joining the reddish tones of hyperspace. In the center of that vortex, a field of stars could be seen. On the periphery of the screen, he could see additional jump points being opened by the Mother and the Eratosthenes. The Nova charged through into normal space, followed by the rest of the fleet.

"Mines being deployed, Captain," Takashima advised.

"Good. Let's get a look around the system, see what the Vree have handy that might try to stop us or slow us down."

Laurel nodded without comment, studying the feeds being piped to her system. John noticed the moment when all of the blood drained out of her face. "What is it, Laurel?" She didn't respond. She hadn't even seemed to hear him. "Report, Lieutenant Commander," he said in a more forceful tone.

She shook herself, but did not look up at him. "We have Vree ships sitting in front of the jumpgate, Captain."

"That wasn't unexpected," he said reassuringly. "How many?"

Finally, she looked up and met his gaze. "Five hundred, Captain."

A stunned silence descended over the bridge. The Vree had been waiting for them. It was a trap. That was the only possible reason that a fleet of that size would be sitting in that exact location. The human race would probably be extinguished in the next few hours, and John Sheridan knew that it was all his fault.

He drew a deep breath and gave himself a mental kick. _Think!_ He ran the situation over and over again in his mind, pushing back the despair, thinking furiously. He didn't see any way his crew, his ship, or he had any chance of survival. They were going to have to make an absolutely futile assault against the Vree, attempting to draw their attention and buy time. He'd take the Mother down with him. It had no real offensive weapons to speak of, but it had excellent point defense, and could soak up damage for a while. Just a little bit more time for everyone else to run. Maybe, just maybe, they could get the rest of the fleet out. If the Minbari didn't jump in too close, that might even include the Midway and the Lexington. There _just might_ be hope for humanity yet.

"Alright, people," he heard himself saying, "things look grim, but there is hope. We just might be able to save the rest of the fleet." He didn't bother to add that they wouldn't be able to save themselves. They knew already. "We're going to advance on that fleet, moving towards the jumpgate as originally planned. Just before we enter weapons range, the Nova and Mother will each open a jump point...behind our ships. The Eratosthenes will open one in front of itself. The fleet, including the Eratosthenes, will hurry through the jump points back into hyperspace, while this ship and the Mother assault the Vree lines with everything we have." Despite the ridiculousness of the statement, no one laughed, or challenged his plan. They watched him silently, prepared to do their duty. "Whether the fleet disperses at that point, or continues on together in the hopes of losing the Minbari...that will be up to whoever ends up being in command." He checked his panel. "We have less than an hour before we get to that point, and a lot to do before then. Let's get ready, people. We'll be in for the fight of our lives." So saying, John activated his a comm channel to advise the Captains.  
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"Alyt, our forward observers report that the human fleet has made transition to normal space. Oddly, they did not use the system jumpgate."

"Why is that odd, Hiai'sa? The humans often forego the use of the jumpgate, so that they may enter into the outer system, hiding like vermin."

"It is odd," Duraal stated, "because the humans were already very close to the Vreetan beacon when they transitioned. They would have been well within the inner system."

Vastor grunted. "A mistake perhaps. Or perhaps an intentional ruse, meant to make us second guess whether they intend to head towards the outskirts of the system or run for the jumpgate. If that is the case, however, then they truly _have_ made a mistake. We are fully capable of dealing with _that_ dilemma.  
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"Two minutes to weapons range of the Vree fleet. They have assumed a combat formation, but are otherwise unmoving."

"Do we have firing solutions?"

"Yes, Captain. Solid targeting locks on every enemy combatant. The data has been fed to all gunnery sections."

He nodded. "Vree saucers depend upon speed and maneuverability rather than heavy armor. Let's take advantage of the fact that they are holding still. Have every turret take aim at a different saucer. Maybe we'll get lucky and take a bunch of them out with our first salvo." It was the epitome of a long shot. And even if every single turret managed to kill a Vree saucer, that still left their four hundred and eighty two friends. But, it was better than nothing.

A panel chimed, and the ensign manning comms, spoke up. "Captain Sheridan, we are receiving a signal from the Vree. It's a standard comm channel."

What could they possibly want? It wasn't as though talking would change anything that was about to happen. He certainly wasn't going to surrender. _Might as well. It can't hurt_. "Put it up on the main screen. Let's see what they have to say."

The screen flickered, and then displayed the pasty skin, black eyes and bulbous head of a Vree. The Vree raised up one of their language cards. Sheridan felt like swearing. He had forgotten about the Vree language difficulties. _What a waste of time._ He was about to try to kill this Vree, and every other that currently sat in his gun sights. But, that was no reason to be _impolite_. "I'm sorry sir. I do not know your language, and we have no translator available at this time. My apologies. As well, for what is about to happen."

The Vree hurriedly grabbed a second card from the stack it carried in its off hand. When Sheridan only shook his head, it seemed to almost desperately grab for and display a third.

A chime sounded. The young lieutenant manning sensors called out, "Jump points forming. Three AU out. It's the Minbari! They assumed we were heading for the outer system!" The news brought elation to Sheridan. They had done it! The Minbari were too far away to catch them. It would take them far too long to get here. Even if they decided to immediately jump back into hyperspace to cut the time, the maneuver had slowed them down far too much. Now, if he could just get the fleet past the Vree, the Minbari would have to guess which route they had taken. Humanity might survive.

"Wait," the officer called again. "Something's wrong. I'm only reading twenty seven Minbari ships…. More jump points forming! They're on top of our system ingress point." He inhaled sharply. "I can't be sure, but I think that was another twenty-seven ships. They came out of hyperspace way too fast, and ran right into our minefield. They didn't even have a chance to use their point defense. Not a single ship survived." There was a half hearted cheer from the back of the room, but it seemed the officer was not done. "More jump points forming, Captain. Directly to our rear. They're practically within weapons range of the fleet! Twenty-two ships, including the Shargoti."

This was it then. All hope was gone. They'd never lose the Minbari at those ranges, and if any of the fleet actually made it into hyperspace, the Minbari would just chase them down. The Lexington and Midway would die quickly, and with them would go the last hope for humanity. He took a deep breath, and felt resolve settle in. He wouldn't give up. If this was the end of the human race, it was going down swinging.

He turned hating eyes on the Vree who was wildly waving his language card. "Are we within firing range of the Vree fleet?"

"Yes, Captain," Takashima said quietly.

"All guns, simultaneous fire on my order."

The Vree seemed to come to a decision. He threw the language cards in both hands over his shoulder, and walked left out of the camera shot...and a second later emerged out of a rectangle of light directly onto the bridge.

Sheridan shouted incoherently and leaped to his feet, almost forgetting to brace himself in the zero-G environment. Several others officers, reacting similarly, did forget, and went sailing across the bridge. Sheridan grabbed for his sidearm, ripping it out of it's holster and pointing the PPG at the intruder.

The Vree threw up his hands to shield his face and cowered. A voice, gravelly but also just slightly high-pitched said, "Away put your weapon! I mean you no harm!" The voice emerged from a device at the Vree's waste rather than his mouth, from which came a high pitched whistling noise, but it was clear as day for all of that.

"You can talk?" Sheridan asked in astonishment.

"More importantly," Takashima followed immediately, "why are you doing Yoda?" Sheridan glared at her, though the aim of his PPG never wavered from the Vree's head. Laurel suddenly displayed the vivid blush that Sheridan hadn't seen since the very first day of the exodus.

The Vree, realizing that he wasn't being seared by plasma bolts, slowly lowered his hands and stood up. "Yes, I can talk, after a fashion," he said to Sheridan. The voice was exactly the same, but the strange speech pattern had disappeared. The whistling noise coming from it's mouth was also still present; soft and strange and disconcerting. "And I was doing Yoda," he followed up, looking at Laurel, "because I assumed none of you humans would get the reference. You practically have to live on Vreetan to find decent SciFi fans these days."

"Who are you? What are you doing on my ship? How did you get here?" Sheridan demanded, refusing to lose control of the conversation, and still pointing his weapon at the Vree.

"Captain," Laurel interrupted, "all guns report ready to fire. If the Vree fire first, we won't survive to retaliate. Should we…"

"Please do not," the Vree stated, turning that disquieting stare upon her. Turning back to Sheridan, he said, "to answer your questions in order, Captain, my name is Milashi Voktal, and I was, until recently, an Ambassador for the Ventuki Conglomerate. I am on your bridge, because it seemed to be the only way to avoid a conflict and get you to listen to me. As to how I got here, it is a technology the Vree have had for some time. Quite spectacular, though much more limited than most would assume. It is one of our carefully guarded secrets. A secret which you now share."

Should he fire? Were the Vree just buying time for the Minbari to catch up? "And what did you want us to listen to, Mr. Voktal?

"That I wish to help you. That I wish to ensure the survival of the human race. That I will give my life, if necessary towards that goal. That is my penance."

"Your penance? Then you did betray us at Earth," Sheridan said bitterly.

"Yes. We arrived well after your Battle of the Line. We brought this very fleet to support you, but we were too late. We emerged surrounded by Minbari ships. Your fleet was gone, and your world burned, and the Minbari wanted to know why we were there. I feared for my life, and for the lives of every Vree in the fleet. More than that, I feared for the very survival of my race. And I acted upon that fear. I told the Minbari that I supported them, and that I hated you. It is the greatest shame of my life."

"The Abbai stated that your fleet bombarded Earth," John accused.

"We did not," Milashi stated quietly, "but only because the Minbari did not trust us to use our weapons. I did offer to do so."

John's grip tightened on the PPG. "And why exactly shouldn't I just kill you right now?"

"Because then I cannot help you. You are free to kill me afterwards, if that offers you comfort, Captain. It would be a mercy. My life if already over. When we returned, the Vree people reviled us for what we had done. There were riots. The Ventuki Conglomerate nearly fell. In order to appease the people, we were barred from landing, from returning to our homes. We have been sitting in exile out here ever since, just rotting away. None of the Vree on my fleet has been allowed to see or even communicate with their families. Many have simply ended their lives. We've just been waiting, and we had no idea what we were waiting for. We know now, Captain. We were waiting for _you_. To help you survive. Kill me if you must, Captain. I am so sorry, but I know that apologies cannot redress what I have done. But our actions were entirely my fault. Please allow the crews of my fleet to redeem themselves."

John stared at the Vree in stunned silence. The story was outlandish...ridiculous. But he found himself believing it. Besides, this really was their only hope. If you were dead anyway, you might as well cling to hope. He lowered the PPG. "Ah, hell, Ambassador. I'm not going to kill you. That's the best apology I've heard all day. Get us out of this, and we'll call it even. What exactly did you have in mind?"

The odd little Vree told him, and then left through that even stranger rectangle of light. John sat down in his command chair, hope blossoming once again. Finally, he turned to his First Officer. "Tell me something, Lieutenant Commander. What the hell is Yoda?"  
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Alyt Vastor ground his teeth in anger. He had lost _another_ twenty-seven ships to another one of Starkiller's ambushes. _Surely_ the humans were out of nuclear devices now. His maneuver had worked. By splitting the fleet, he had sacrificed a third of his remaining vessels, but he had covered every possible move the humans could have made, and still had more than enough firepower to wipe them from space. The plan had worked. Not flawlessly; that was too much to hope for where Starkiller was concerned, but it had worked, and he now had the humans exactly where he wanted them.

And it didn't matter at all. He had no idea how the Vree had anticipated the humans, but they had a massive fleet blocking them from accessing the jumpgate. The humans would die within sight of their goal, and it would be the Vree who would get all of the glory. Vastor felt sick.

Duraal looked at him strangely. "Why has no one fired, Alyt? Both fleets are well within weapons range of each other, but they only continue to accelerate towards each other."

Vastor frowned. "Clearly the humans do not know that the Vree declared themselves our allies. They must be hoping the Vree fleet was in position to deal with us. The Vree weapons are far more effective at short range. They must be holding their fire until they can deal a truly devastating blow; eviscerate the human fleet with their first salvo." He watched the holographic display of the two fleets rapidly closing on each other, both still accelerating. "They will fire any moment now…" Several moments later, not a single shot had been fired. "Any moment now…"

Still, nothing.

Duraal spoke up again. "We are nearly within range of the human's rearguard. If the Vree hold off for just a bit longer, we may get to kill the heavy cruiser and the carrier."

Vastor ignored him, staring at the display. "Valen's name! Do they mean to ram?!" The two fleets interpenetrated, but their was not a single collision. As the human vessels came out the far side of the Vree fleet, they began to rearrange themselves into a single file line, and they finally began to decelerate. They clearly meant to dive directly through the jumpgate, and didn't want to be moving so fast that one of their Worker craft might accidentally stray into the pylons. That might damage the jumpgate, and strand the remaining vessels in the system.

Vastor continued to stare, in astonishment. The Vree were letting the humans get away! "Open a channel to the Vree fleet." He waited for the Warrior manning communications to signal that the channel was opened, then demanded, "Vree fleet. Just what do you think you are doing? Stop those humans!" He waited for several seconds, but there was no response. "Answer me, or you shall regret your actions!" he roared. Still there was no answer.

"The Vree fleet continues to accelerate towards us, Alyt," Vastor said in confusion. "The range is closing rapidly."

Vastor finally felt a small twinge of alarm. "Target their leading ship and destroy it," he ordered. He wasn't allowed to instigate a war, but he was certainly allowed to defend his ships and his Warriors.

Almost immediately, green beams streaked out from his ship. Not a one touched the Vree saucer. Durall glanced over at him. "The Vree craft are extremely maneuverable. We were unable to connect, Alyt."

"Compensate and fire again." This time, the beams slammed into the saucer, and it immediately erupted into a fireball.

"No change in the bearing of the Vree fleet," Duraal reported. "They are getting rather close."

"All ships, pick a target and fire!" It took a few seconds, but every one of the twenty-one frigates destroyed a Vree saucer. His own Shargoti destroyed three.

"Still no change,"Duraal stated. "Wait! They're maneuvering." The Vree saucers were extremely close now. Suddenly, every saucer reared up, exposing their ventral sides, and weapons fire streaked out and towards his own vessel. The Shargoti shook, and a distant rumbling could be heard, but otherwise the world was calm. The Vree fleet flew past, and began to slowly turn, attempting to loop back around.

"What happened? Did they miss? Did our stealth systems protect us?"

"No, Alyt." Duraal said stiffly. "They hit. Every one of our vessels has been shorn of its dorsal drive fins. Acceleration is significantly reduced. We'll never catch the humans now. _Why_? Why did they target our drives?"

"Because they didn't want to _kill_ us," Vastor replied. "And because they also wanted us to know that they are fully _capable_ of killing us." He kept a very tight rein on his anger. "Change course. We will link up with our fleet farther out in the system. Have them make their way towards us as well." That fleet could be brought in. They could maintain range, ensuring their stealth systems would keep them safe from the Vree. They could exact retribution, and wipe out that detestable Vree fleet. But, that would be an act of war, and he was not allowed to make that decision. "We are leaving the system. We cannot catch the humans, so we will pull back and await further orders. Duraal, open a channel to Shai Alyt Branmer and request a moment of his time. I will have that conversation in my quarters. There will be much to discuss. The Minbari will be back, and the Vree will regret the choices they made on this day.  
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 **Hyperspace, Leaving Vreetan - The Olympic, Exodus Fleet - March, 2249**

Deputy Tessa Holloran sat alone, waiting for her guests to arrive. There was a gentle knock at the door, followed immediately by Susan, Lyta, and Tessa coming through, without waiting for a response. They entered the small room Tessa had reserved, closing the door behind them and looking around curiously. It was a small conference room, with a table and the half dozen chairs around it being the primary furniture, save only for a small kitchenette against the back. The three ladies were dressed for a party, Lyta and Talia both showing a lot of skin. Susan's dress was far more conservative, but festive for all of that. When they saw her sitting there, in her uniform, they each looked surprised.

Talia spoke first. "Tessa, why aren't you dressed? The whole fleet is celebrating, and we need to be out there taking advantage of it."

"I didn't call you here to party," Tessa responded quietly. "We have urgent matters to discuss."

"But we still need to keep up appearances, don't we?" Lyta replied. "Girl's night out, remember? Like every other time we've all met together. You're the one who told us that we all need to start dressing more provocatively. I'd still like to know why, by the way."

Tessa sighed, standing up. "If this meeting goes well, and you all still feel like going out afterwards, then I'll change and go with you. But, I have a feeling none of you will really feel like spending time celebrating, much less celebrating with me."

Susan took a step closer and grasped her shoulder. "Tessa, whatever it is, we'll get through it. I really appreciate everything you have done to help me. Why don't you just tell us what's going on, and we'll deal with it."

"I appreciate your saying that, Susan, but you're not going to like what I have to say. None of you are."

"Well, just spit it out then," Lyta said in exasperation.

Taking a deep breath, Tessa plunged ahead. "I need you to do that deep scan on Susan."

"What?" Talia blurted. "Why? I thought you trusted her."

"Because, if we don't, then sometime very soon Susan is going to be arrested for treason. She'll be stripped of her pilot status for certain, but she may even be executed, or more likely suffer the Death of Personality."

Susan grunted and grabbed for a chair, sitting down before her wobbling legs could give out. Talia, became angry. "That's crazy!"

"I've been chasing down evidence on multiple investigations...the serial killer, the King Solomon's mines, various sabotage cases, and even a major conspiracy that the Chief asked me to investigate, and the evidence is all starting to come together, linking them all. And the evidence is pointing at Susan. I need you to perform and record a deep scan as evidence...to save her, and protect her from the worst of that."

"I thought _you_ were going to protect her from that," Talia snapped.

"I have been, by trying to find the actual culprit. But more and more it's starting to look like that culprit is Susan. The Chief has access to my research. I've been stonewalling him, but fairly soon he's going to dig into what I've been doing. The minute he does, I'll lose my job and Susan will be arrested. Evidence of a deep scan exonerating her will be the only thing protecting her from real harm. It probably won't save her pilot status, though."

"So you're worried about your job," Talia snapped, bitterly.

"Talia, aren't you listening? I'm trying to protect Susan's life. Besides, I also have a responsibility to protect every other life in this fleet. If the evidence I am finding is correct, Susan really could be the perpetrator, and a danger to everyone. She's my friend, but I have a responsibility to ensure she's isn't actually a killer."

Lyta interrupted, latching onto something Tessa had said earlier. "You said that the serial killer case was related. How? You caught the killer. He was tried and punished already."

Tessa met her gaze. "Gunter Mansfeld was definitely guilty. However, we were only able to tie him to about half of the killings. I continued investigating after his sentence had been carried out. He had rock solid alibis for at least a third of the killings. Which means, unfortunately, that there was more than one killer. I've been able to confirm that Susan had access to the locations of about ninety percent of that third, at the times in question. She doesn't have alibis for any of the remaining ten percent. Not that I've been able to find."

"That's ridiculous, Tessa," Lyta countered. "Susan _is_ a telepath. She wouldn't kill her own kind."

"She wasn't very happy about being discovered as a telepath, though. That's on record." Sighing again, she continued, "Look, I want to believe Susan is innocent as well. That's why we're here. To _prove_ that she is. For ourselves and for others. This evidence is really damning, and we need to take this step to protect her. It's not just the serial killings. She had access and means to destroy the King Soloman's Mines. We've thrown tons of resources at that, and so far Susan is the only suspect, and _I'm_ the only security officer aware of that fact. It's not well known, but we've also managed to prevent a couple of sabotage attempts. In each case, military explosive matching the kind Susan had were recovered. And then there's the conspiracy. It's starting to look like the Mars Resistance has made an alliance with the Psi-Corp."

"The Psi-Corp doesn't exist anymore," Lyta argued. "We did away with the power structure."

"Well, the Mars Resistance certainly thinks they have an alliance. I found out that much. And _somebody_ has been pulling strings, moving a lot of telepaths around the fleet, concentrating them onto just a few ships. It'll start to be obvious to the average citizen before too much longer. I think whoever has been doing it will move before then, but I still have no idea what it is they want. I was working a couple of informants, but they were both killed trying to get some important information out to me."

"Conspiracies?" Talia sneered. "And you're tying that to Susan _why_ exactly? Because she's a telepath? How do we know it's not normals, concentrating the telepaths to wipe us all out?"

"I'll do it," Susan said softly, but no one seemed to notice.

Talia continued to rant. "I thought you were more open-minded than that, Tessa. I can see now that you're just as..."

"I said I'll do it," Susan practically shouted. "She's right, we need to know. Talia, Lyta, I would consider it a personal favor if you would perform a deep scan on me. Please, let's just get this over with."

"Alright," Lyta said calmly. "We'll do this...for you." Talia started to protest, but Lyta grabbed her shoulder. "It will be alright," she said reassuringly, though whether the comment was meant for Talia, Susan, or herself was unclear. "And Tessa is still our friend. We do this, and then we _all_ need a girl's night out. Agreed?" she asked, meeting Tessa's gaze.

Tessa wasn't sure if the sound which escaped her throat was a laugh or a sob, but she only said, "Agreed."

Talia and Lyta sat down next to each other across the table from Susan. They linked hands and then concentrated, digging deeply into Susan's mind. For Susan, the process was invasive, incredibly uncomfortable, and flat out painful at times. And it just went on and on. Tessa had moved to stand behind Susan, and kept feeding them things to look for, times to analyze, names, associations, and possible crimes. Each search simply increased Susan's discomfort. Finally, after more than ninety minutes, Lyta said in a tired voice, "She's clean. It wasn't her. There are some blacked out periods where I assume she was asleep or drugged. But there is simply no indication that she did _any_ of those things. Are you recording this, Tessa?"

"I am."

"Then, for the record, Susan Ivanova is innocent of any wrongdoing. Do you concur, Talia?"

"Yes, I do. You're innocent, Susan," she said with a huge smile, receiving one in return.

"What about drug induced actions, hypnosis, or any kind of...I don't know...split personality or psychosis or something?" Tessa asked.

"Each of those things would be extremely obvious to this kind of deep scan. They're impossible to hide. There is simply no indication of anything like that. Is there anything else?"

"Just one last thing," Tessa replied. "My two informants who were killed, they were able to get me one word. Control. They indicated it was a program and a password, but I don't know what that means. See if you can find anything on that." Talia frowned, but Lyta just nodded, and returned to her task, feeding the word into Susan's mind, to look for any echos.

Susan screamed, her face a mask of pain, her hands flying up to her head, while Lyta reared back, gasping in horror. "Susan!" Talia shouted, leaping out of her seat and lunging forward across the table to check on her friend. Susan's hand darted forward, winding itself into Talia's long hair, and then pulled sharply forward. Talia's lunge was transformed into a sweeping curve, bringing her head down with dizzying speed to impact the surface of the table. The sound of the collision was shocking in the small room, and blood spurted out across the table top. Tessa started to take a step forward, but Susan was still in motion, standing and kicking backwards in one smooth movement. Her chair went skittering across the room, but it was the impact of her foot into Tessa's abdomen which drew Tessa's full attention. Pain blossomed in her midriff, and she found herself literally thrown across the room and into the wall by the power of the kick. It was a distance of only a few feet, but it still hurt like hell.

Susan had leapt onto the table top, kicking Talia's limp body out of the way. Lyta belatedly turned to run, but Susan hooked an arm around her neck and yanked her backwards, slamming her down onto the table top with her hips and legs dangling off the side. Susan planted a knee on her chest and began raining blows down onto her face. She was shouting. "You blew my cover, you bitch! I'm going to kill you! I'm going to rip your brain out of your skull and flush it with the rest of the waste!"

Tessa drew her sidearm. Susan glanced up, and the PPG simply disappeared out of Tessa's hand. She gasped in astonishment as Susan laughed, still pummelling Lyta. Tessa darted forward, sending a roundhouse punch towards Susan's head, attempting to knock her off of Lyta. Susan rolled backwards, bracing both hands onto the tabletop, and kicking out with both feet, planting them directly into Tessa's face with shocking speed. She was hurled backward into the wall once more, this time bouncing off of it and collapsing to the floor. The room was spinning, and it felt like someone was trying to drive a spike into her brain. _Fragging fighter pilot reflexes! Thank God she wasn't wearing heels_. She could still hear Susan pummelling Lyta. Lyta's cries were becoming disjointed and weaker.

Tessa activated the Link on her wrist. "Emergency! Officer needs assistance!" She gasped as the Link also vanished into thin air. She looked up and met Susan's gaze.

"Really, Deputy Holloran?" she said, wearing the darkest smile Tessa had ever seen. "You're not trying to break up our party, are you?" A punch came out of nowhere, sending her back to the floor. Susan was standing right over her. How had she crossed the distance without Tessa even noticing? A kick to her ribs and another to her face sent agony spiking through her.

"She's using telepathy on you," Lyta gasped weakly, trying to sit up. "She shouldn't be able to do that." She concentrated, and Tessa found herself looking at her PPG where it had been dropped on the floor just a few feet away. Apparently her Link had reappeared as well, because she could hear Garibaldi's voice shouting out of it.

"Tessa! Tessa, please respond! Hold on! We have officers en route to your location. They should be there any minute."

"Naughty, naughty, Lyta," Susan said with an evil grin. Striding over to the table, she grabbed Lyta's head and slammed it into the table three times in rapid succession. Lyta stopped moving.

Tessa's thoughts were fuzzy, clouded with pain. A trickle of blood rolled into her eyes. What should she do? Link or PPG? On the table, Susan was pressing her elbow into Lyta's throat. The sickening gurgling sound emanating from the table made Tessa gag. _She's really going to do it. She's going to kill Lyta._ That thought settled her course of action. Lurching forward, she dove for her PPG. She managed to wrap her hand around the butt when Susan's foot drove down. Braced by the floor on one side and her knee on the other, Tessa's forearm snapped with a sickening crack, the middle part of the arm driven all the way to the floor. Tessa clearly saw the pure white fragments of bones shear through her flesh to protrude sickeningly into the air. She screamed, until Susan's knee came up under her jaw, mercifully driving her into darkness.  
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 **Proxima, Former Earth Alliance Space - Valen'Tha, Minbari Fleet - March, 2249**

The Grey Council was once again in session. The news coming from Vreetan was particularly shocking, and no one wished to be the first to face it. So they stood there for a lengthy period of time, silently and in the dark.

Finally, Coplann strode forward, lowering his hood and standing in a pool of light. "We must face up to the matter at hand. We have been betrayed by those who claimed to be our allies, who said they sided with us. The end of human resistance was at hand, and the Vree attacked us, in much the same way the humans attacked us. This cannot be borne. Our course is clear."

Once again, it was Delenn who strode forward to stand in opposition, another pool of light appearing around her. "Yes. Our course is clear. Once again it was Minbari who initiated that attack, not the Vree."

"Would you have our people not defend themselves Delenn? It was not a Warrior Caste officer in charge. Alyt Vastor is Religious Caste."

"And I shall discuss the matter with him. But, as with the Drazi, we Minbari fired the first shots. It was the Vree who were defending themselves. Most likely doing what the Drazi were doing; playing games to slow us down, when that wouldn't have helped the humans escape at all, if we had only kept control of the situation and not rashly opened fire on _another_ alien species."

"They declared themselves our allies, and then turned upon us, Delenn. They aided the humans. You cannot deny these facts. The Minbari cannot stand by and allow this kind of betrayal!"

"And we shall not. But, as you said, our course is clear. The decision of how to handle this situation has already been made, the precedent already set. We focus on running down the human refugee fleet, and only after that task is complete do we decide what to do with the Vree."

Coplann looked at her in astonishment. "Am I hearing you correctly Delenn? Are you suggesting we treat the Vree the same as the Drazi? How could you _possibly_ suggest we blockade _another_ race's territory? Where would we get the ships? Better to crush them and be done with it, so our ships are free to continue the human pursuit. I will not agree to your suggestion."

"It was not a suggestion, Satai Coplann. And you have already agreed to it." She waved her hand to the side, signalling someone, and suddenly a holographic recording of Coplann from an earlier meeting appeared before them.

The hologram spoke. "All right, Delenn. I will agree to your proposal. But, I will need you to agree to a couple of additional items. First, we begin modernization of all of the vessels in the reserve yards, to be completed in no more than ten years. Most of them have needed it for centuries. We also need to double the rate of our new construction. Agree to this and I will not oppose blockading the Drazi or any other species who oppose us." Upon uttering those final words, the hologram vanished.

The real Coplann looked thunderstruck. "But...I was not _literally_ agreeing to…"

"Satai Coplann," Delenn cut him off sharply, "you convinced this Council to undertake a massively expensive program of simultaneously pulling thousands of ships from our reserves, modernizing our reserves, and doubling our rates of new construction. You created a situation whereby the Warrior Caste would receive a considerable power increase in the military balance of the castes, at the significant military detriment of the Worker Caste, but also placing you militarily in excess of the Religious Caste. This is an unprecedented situation since the days of Valen. Are you now telling us that you are unwilling to live up to your end of the agreement?"

Coplann looked desperate. "But, from where do we get the ships, Delenn? Much of our fleet is spread out across the coreward portion of the League. We can retrieve them, but it will take time. Even pulling ships up from the reserves takes some time. We can't reduce the Drazi blockade, and we can't reduce our home defenses, per your insistence. The nodal reaction force we had in place for exactly this situation has been decimated by the Vree and Starkiller. Every ship we throw into blockading the Vree is one less that can search the rimward portions of the League. So where, Delenn? From where do we get these ships?"

Delenn canted her head to the side in thought. "What about the ships searching the Earth Alliance? Could they not be retasked?"

"There are still human colonies unaccounted for Delenn. We are still hunting them all down."

"Those colonies are not going anywhere. The humans are sneaky, but they have not yet learned to move entire planets. Besides, you have assured us that there can be no more than one or two left out there. We can return to hunting for them when our ships return from the further reaches of League space."

Coplann nodded in surrender. "Alright Delenn, it shall be done. You do realize, of course, that this will leave the Earth Alliance territory almost entirely unsecured?"

"Territory our fleets have scoured. Territory in which we now have significant stationary assets. Territory from which any possible aid to the human fleet has been stripped. No, the humans are almost certainly heading rimward through Vree space, being supported and protected by their new allies. If our blockade is in position quickly enough, it may even catch them trying to escape."

Coplann bowed in acquiescence. "You are, of course, correct Delenn. Even Starkiller would not be mad enough to return to the Earth Alliance."  
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 **Kapteya, Former Earth Alliance Space - Exodus Fleet - April, 2249**

Captain John Sheridan stood in his ready room, just off the bridge, bathing once more in the light of an Earth Alliance star. Or rather, the light of the displayed image of that star on the wall viewscreen. If he were standing at a window, not that there were many of those on a dreadnaught, then the star would appear quite tiny from this distance, hardly appearing larger than any other star in the firmament. Once again they were hiding far out in the local Kuiper Belt. And, technically it was a star few of them had even seen, being very much on the bleeding frontier of the Earth Alliance. _But by God it is an Earth Alliance star. We've been gone for months, and we won't be staying long, but it's still good to be home._

After several long moments he turned around to review the five people, two men and three women, awaiting his pleasure. The two men could not have been more different. Garibaldi was hovering darkly behind the three women, silently pulling his best bad cop routine. Franklin was pulling his best mother hen routine, hovering with concern over his three former patients, released from the med bay and into Garibaldi's custody less than an hour before.

John spent well over a minute studying the three women in question. They were standing in a rough line, each attempting, badly, to imitate an attention stance. They were each beautiful in their own right, but right now they looked like complete hell. Broken and shattered bones, lurid bruises covering their faces, and ripped flesh which had needed to be stitched back together. They'd been beaten to within an inch of their lives, and the intent _had_ been murder. Garibaldi had stated flat out that if his officers hadn't been so close, if Susan had just a few moments more, then all three of them would have been dead.

 _My God, how could it have been Susan Ivanova?_ The one camera shot they had recovered of her after the attack had shown her sauntering calmly out of the room, mere seconds before security rounded the corner, and walking calmly away. After that she had simply vanished without a trace. There was a massive fleet wide manhunt under way, but not so much as a trace had been found to date, and the trail was growing rather cold.

John would have walked a circuit around the prisoners, for that was what they were, if they had been under spin or gravity. In zero-G the movements simply looked awkward rather than imposing, so he stayed put. It shouldn't matter anyway. He had no doubt they grasped the gravity of their error. Being released from Intensive Care and immediately arrested by none other than Michael Garibaldi had a tendency to do that. They each looked like they might collapse at any moment, so it was probably good that they were currently weightless. John couldn't tell if that state was more due to their injuries or the fear of their pending consequences. _Probably a horse apiece._

"Well," he began, "you ladies have seriously fragged the pooch…" He actually saw Talia's eyeballs waver and begin to roll up in her head. _Jesus, she's going to faint!_ "Oh, sit down, the lot of you! You're not in any trouble, and you look ridiculous, trying to stand at attention. Besides, none of you are actually proper military, though I'd be more than happy to change that fact if any of you are willing to do the work. Jesus, Michael, did you have to scare them to within an inch of their lives?"

Talia practically leaped for a chair, but both Tessa and Lyta remained frozen in place. Dr. Franklin pulled out a couple of chairs for them to sit, and then went to assist them. John noted that he went immediately to Tessa, and seemed to have eyes only for her. _That's right, they're dating._ He felt a brief pang for his missing Anna. Seeing as Lyta was still just standing there, he moved forward himself to assist her to a seat.

"You trying to poach my deputy, John?" Garibaldi asked with amusement.

"Don't you mean _my_ deputy?" he responded. "You're still in the command structure and, civilian or not, so is she." After all three ladies were seated, he continued. "Alright ladies, let's dispense with formalities. None of you are being charged or penalized. You all showed incredibly bad judgment in this matter, but you're young, and Susan was your friend. You fragged the pooch big time, but so has nearly every officer in this fleet, at least once, myself included. If we were going by pre-war or even pre-exodus standards, not a one of us would still be in uniform. But we're each needed to do our part towards the survival of the species. So you won't be going anywhere. Just make better decisions next time. Understood?"

They each nodded their affirmatives, and he suspected that Lyta was crying a little, but with both of her eyes nearly swollen shut, it was awfully hard to tell. "Alright, I've read each of your reports, but I want you to go through it all with me, right from the beginning. Don't leave anything out, we've got time." He sat down with them, and the three of them shared their tale, from the moment Talia and Lyta had walked in on Susan with incriminating evidence, right up to the final attack. Every decision, every piece of incriminating evidence, every single odd occurrence was reviewed. John let Garibaldi and Franklin ask most of the questions, content to just listen.

"I've never felt anything like it," Lyta was saying. "One moment it was Susan, and nothing at all seemed wrong. A deep scan should have been able to detect anything. The next moment, it was like something dark just rose up and swallowed her."

"It had to be some kind of telepathic sleeper program," Garibaldi said.

Franklin shook his head. "I just don't know how that would even be possible in the human brain."

"Well something happened! She's got too much history for her to have been faking things all along."

"She wasn't faking," Lyta insisted. "There was a literal mental transition. Something overtook and subsumed her personality."

"Then we need to find her, and save her from whatever this is," Tessa insisted.

"Bester's got to be involved!" Garibaldi insisted. "Only a Psi-cop could pull this off."

Sheridan finally cut in. "He's a _former_ Psi-cop, and a valued fighter pilot and leader within this fleet. You have no evidence of any wrongdoing."

"So we just let him go? Pretend none of this ever happened?" Garibaldi asked with disgust.

"No, you do your job. You investigate. But you do so legally and respectfully. There are plenty of other Psi-cops in this fleet for potential suspects, as well as this conspiracy you've been working on. Commander Bester may not be tied to them at all. It's not like he has a ton of spare time for plotting. And your top priority is finding Susan Ivanova. I'm not sure what kind of telepathic spell she's under, but we don't leave our people behind. She's in trouble and in need of rescue. Find her, and then we figure out how to deprogram her."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Lyta said insistently, "but I don't think you understand what I was saying. Susan hasn't been brainwashed or possessed or even reprogrammed. An alternate personality was put into her head, somehow hiding in the background. When it rose up, it didn't imprison or incapacitate her personality, her 'self.' From what I could feel, Captain, that personality was completely wiped away. I'm so sorry, but the woman we know as Susan Ivanova...she's dead. This thing killed her. You're hunting someone else wearing Susan's body."


	15. Chapter 14 - Ragnarok

**Chapter 14 - Ragnarok**

 **Deneb, Earth Alliance Space - Exodus Fleet - April, 2249**

Captain John Sheridan stood upon the bridge of the Nova as it approached the Deneb jump gate. They were close now, the beacon and the gate could be seen despite the mad wash of hyperspace surrounding the structure. Unusually, the Nova was leading the fleet through hyperspace.

"Approaching jumpgate, Captain. Preparing to transit."

"Belay that, Lieutenant Commander," he ordered. "We will not be using the Deneb jumpgate." She turned to him, confused, but he merely continued, "Bring us to within one kilometer of the jumpgate, and then change heading to…" he checked some numbers on his console, "...thirty by sixty-seven."

"Aye, Captain," she called, professionally suppressing her confusion and curiosity.

The navigator entered the new heading into his systems, and then paused. "Captain, that heading is not a valid hyperspace route. It would take us directly into Deneb's mass shadow, where we would be destroyed."

"You have your orders. Laurel, send a transmission to the fleet that they are to follow our path exactly. Cut speed by ninety percent."

Laurel was looking concerned again, but merely said, "Aye, Captain." They continued onward in silence for several more minutes, as the crew began to look more and more concerned.

"Captain," the ensign in charge of communications called out, "I have received contacts from Commanders Sinclair, Gideon, and Levitt. They….would like to know exactly what we are doing."

"Repeat orders that they follow us in exactly." Turning to the sensors and navigations stations, he said, "Keep a sharp eye out. It should be any second now."

"What should be…?" Laurel started to ask.

"Mass shadow directly ahead!" the sensor operator interrupted her.

"Open a jump point," Sheridan called immediately. "Take us into normal space."

"Captain," the Ensign at navigation called, "Deneb is two hundred thousand times more luminous than Sol. If we emerge at this distance the ship will cook. We'll be immobilized in seconds, dead shortly after that."

"Deneb I," Takashima said softly to herself. Snapping her head towards navigation, she commanded loudly, "Open the jump point now, before it's too late." The jump point bloomed before them, it's blue hues spinning a tunnel back into normal space. The Nova slid through that tunnel, and directly into the physical shadow of Deneb I. Light came from every direction. Deneb I was the type of planet still officially known as a "Hot Jupiter," though technically it was so massive that it hovered on the line of being termed a Brown Dwarf. It orbited well within Deneb's corona, and aside from the space directly in the shadow of the planet, the space around them glowed in every direction with the massive luminosity of the upper portion of the star's atmosphere. The planet itself also glowed, its atmosphere superheated by proximity to the Class A star. That atmosphere churned violently, massive storms spun wildly across its surface at astonishing rates, and enormous electrical discharges crackled across the entire visible face of the planet. And then there were the rings.

Deneb I had the most massive ring system anywhere in the Earth alliance...assuming you classified it as a planet rather than failed star. It should have had several moons...or planets...orbiting it, but the tidal forces and solar wind of Deneb kept breaking them up. The space the Nova had emerged into was thick with chunks of rock as far as the eye could see, ranging in size from the minute to the mountainous. The surfaces of many of the larger ones were still molten from their sojourn across the far side of the planet...the sunward side.

Takashima was studying the readings at her station. "Captain, I don't know how you knew about this sweet spot, or how to get here, but it's none too large. The fleet will fit, but we'll have to be careful. Stray too far up or to the sides and the Corona will fry us. Stray into too low an orbit and we'll catch a static discharge from the planet that would put an energy mine to shame."

The officer manning sensors called out, "Jesus, there's something out there! It's massive, definitely artificial, partially obscured by some asteroids."

"Put it on the main screen," Sheridan said calmly, leaning back in his chair.

"Pushing Camera 7 to main screen, aye."

There was something out there. It was largely hidden by a pair of enormous boulders, each the size of a mountain. Even from what little they could see, they could tell it was clearly manufactured. As the rocks slowly slid past it, more and more if it came into view. Before long, its form became obvious. It was an Orion class starbase. It was clearly heavily modified, and also clearly abandoned, but nonetheless it was an Orion...the most common starbase in use by the EA, and a cornerstone of both its military defense and rapid colonial expansion. It was a friendly face to those who had long been away from home.

"Open a channel to the fleet."

"Channel open, Captain."

"To all personnel and passengers of this Exodus Fleet, this is Captain John Sheridan. I wish to bid you welcome. Welcome to Ragnarok Station."  
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The space was vast, cavernous really. But aside from the shuttles in which they had arrived, it was populated only by a pair of lonely looking tugs, and some discarded dockworker gear. Nothing else stirred as the boarding ramps of each shuttle lowered, disgorging a host of heavily armed troops, sealed up in their vacuum gear. They were followed by multiple teams of engineers, and finally by the military leadership of the fleet. As the Marines spread out across the hangar bay, the initial report from the engineers came in to Sheridan's pad. Looking at it, he reached up and unsealed his helmet, taking it off and turning to the group of officers and NCOs behind him. "The air's perfect, temperature too. It doesn't make sense. This place should be mothballed."

Those officers comprised Sheridan's now expanded Command Staff. Said staff included the Captains of the military ships (including Commander Bester), their First Officers, and the CAG, as well as the Dr. Franklin, Lieutenant Commander Garibaldi, and the top NCOs from the Marines and GroPos. Upon his statement, everyone began removing their helmets as well.

"So what exactly is this place?" Garibaldi wanted to know.

"I told you, it's Ragnarok Station."

"Which means nothing to me," Sinclair responded, "or, I'm guessing, any of the rest of us. I've never heard of this place. I don't even know why anyone would want to put it here, much less how it could possibly have been built. I don't suppose you want to shed some light on the subject?"

"Project Ragnarok was the immediate predecessor of Project Exodus. Back during the earliest phases of the war, just after the first few battles, it had become clear that the Minbari held an overwhelming technological advantage over us. We still knew next to nothing about the Minbari, but had already attempted suing for peace, only to be rebuffed. The thinking amongst the upper brass at the time was that the Minbari would prosecute this war the way humans would. It was assumed that they would use their strategic and tactical mobility advantages to bypass and isolate our mobile forces and strike our stationary civilian, industrial, and command and control facilities. The thought was that our planets and systems would be overrun and conquered within months, leaving significant military forces unsupported, to surrender, be hunted down, or simply waste away from a lack of resources. We were further concerned that the Minbari might be like the Centauri, with the intention of enslaving our entire race.

"And so they came up with this place." Sheridan took a deep breath and continued. "We had an Orion Starbase completed, ready to be installed in one of the new frontier systems. All of the modules were completed, ready for transport and final construction in situ. They brought it here and upgunned and uparmored it. It wasn't exactly a low risk operation. I hear they lost quite a few people getting this place set up."

"But what's it for?" Garibaldi asked.

"It was meant to be an unfindable and unbreachable fortress. A base of operations to reorganize, replenish, and repurpose whatever remained of Earth Force. To turn an offensive military into a guerrilla resistance force. A fleet in being with which to eventually free humanity."

"So what happened?"

"Several things. We managed to slow down the Minbari advance by altering the output of our beacons, making the network all but unusable to them. And then we saw that the Minbari _don't_ wage war the way humans would. They went after our military formations first, chasing down and eliminating resistance before taking out any civilian populations. The few ground battles we had also seemed to be about the Minbari eliminating any planetside resistance. You can't have military forces liberate a civilian population if those forces fall before the civilians do. Most importantly, though, was that we realized we had underestimated Minbari capabilities...again.

"Given the limited volume of marginally safe space in this pocket, and the cover provided by all these asteroids and moonlets, it was assumed that the Minbari would be forced to get into extremely close range in order to attack the station. The station was uparmored and upgunned, equipped with the heaviest interceptor grid ever designed, and expected to be packed with more nukes than anyone would have ever _considered_ before the war. The space around the station was thickly mined with even more nukes capable of remote detonation. The intention was to turn the entire area around the station into a kill zone, where even a Sharlin wouldn't last more than a second. I saw some of the early calculations for the place. They thought that with a little luck they might survive an assault by a Minbari fleet a thousand ships strong."

Garibaldi gave a low whistle. Lochley summed up what everyone was thinking. "Obviously, they were wrong."

"As I said, we had underestimated the Minbari capabilities. First, in their navigation and sensor capabilities. The fact that they could continue to press forward even without the beacon network was a certain sign that they would eventually find this place. But also, in their combat capabilities. Their ships are incredibly robust, far more so than we had initially believed. Just look at how many nukes we had to use to keep them off our back en route to Vreetan. Those Neutron beams also pack more of a punch than any of our engineers were willing to believe. Add that to the speed and maneuverability they possess, and a fleet of a hundred ships would have no trouble putting an end to this place. Hell, just fifty might do it. But, what really put the final nail in the coffin was the Black Star incident, and a few others like it."

"But that's where you proved that the Minbari _could_ be destroyed by nukes," Takashima argued.

"Yes, but it's also when the Minbari displayed once again that they could do things no one thought possible."

There was a few seconds of silence as everyone considered his words, until Sinclair stated, "the jump point attack."

"Exactly," John replied with a grim smile. "By its very nature, a space station is mostly, well, stationary. Once the Minbari found us, they could take out the station with a single attack, that none of those layered defenses could stop. Oh, all these asteroids might make targeting the station a bit difficult. It might take them a few tries. And they would probably lose a few ships before they realized a jump point attack might be necessary. But the final estimates said the Minbari were not likely to lose more than ten ships in destroying this place. And that made the whole endeavor counter productive. All supply and construction work was stopped. The whole place was mothballed. Earthgov moved on to Project Exodus."

"How do you know about this place? How do you know about any of this?" Levitt asked curiously. "I've never heard a peep of any of it."

"Some people collect coins or art." He smiled to himself, introspectively. "I collect secrets. Black projects. Conspiracies. Secret organizations. They fascinate me. That kind of information is usually a challenge to get, but this one was easy. General Lefcourt worked on Project Ragnarok. I got the information out of him over drinks during our preparations over Mars. He had considered heading this way himself, but he never held out much hope for finding a habitable world rimward. Particularly with how hostile the Ch'Lonas and Koulani have been of late."

"So what are we doing here?" Gideon wanted to know. "If the Minbari will be able to find it, and if it's not an impenetrable fortress, then why are we here? And why are the lights and life support running, if this place was mothballed?"

"We're here," Sheridan said with a small smile, "because even though they stopped provisioning this place and mothballed it, they never retrieved what they had already put in place. I don't know if that was due to the chaos of the war, a bureaucratic oversight, or just possibly someone's idea of contingency planning. Whatever it was, it means that there should be more than enough supplies on hand for us to fully restock the fleet in food, fuel, and ammunition, as well as critical spare parts for our military vessels. And yes, that includes nukes and energy mines. There's far less here in the way of replacements for the spares we have already used for our civilian vessels. But, we can use the empty space in the fleet that was storing many of those parts to stock more munitions. Vreetan proved to me that you just can't have enough nukes on hand.

"Since this place should also be reasonably secure from the Minbari, at least for a while, we'll have time to rotate the civilians onto the station and let them stretch, while we run the entire fleet through a good hard maintenance period."

John met the gaze of every one of the Officers and NCOs around him. "For right now, though, I want you each to take command of your assigned sections. Search this place from top to bottom, and inventory anything and everything that can be of use to us, from the nukes in the magazines to the handles on the kitchen sink. I'll want a full report by this time tomorrow; though check in periodically with anything interesting. Stay in close contact with the Marines; at least until we find out why this place has been powered up. I don't like mysteries, but we can't waste the time on a full search before we get started. Stay alert. Stay cautious. Stay alive. Now get to work."  
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Sheridan and Garibaldi were meeting aboard the bridge of the Nova. Though the bridge was technically fully staffed, even a casual observer would note that it was more lightly crewed than usual. A substantial portion of the military crews had been pulled to the space station, to oversee the civilian work teams and facilitate the multiple ongoing projects. Between the full raft of maintenance work ordered fleet wide, the location and collection of provisions and the shuffling of, well, _everyone_ onto the station for rest and recuperation; an awful lot of oversight was necessary. Laurel Takashima was one of the officers leading the work, and John noted that the bridge simply didn't feel right without her.

"Well," Garibaldi said, interrupting his musings, "it's official. Someone has definitely been here."

"How can you be sure?"

"They didn't try to hide their tracks. The computer noted when the air and power were turned back up to operational levels...several months ago now. We also found the station's supply manifest. It was kept current right up to the point when Project Ragnarok was shut down and the station mothballed. We've done some reviews, and _somebody_ has definitely been raiding the larder. Not so much in the food area, though that to, but quite a bit in terms of weapons. Everything from nukes to interceptors."

"How many weapons?" Sheridan asked in concern.

"An awful lot, but don't worry, there's still more than enough on hand to fully restock the fleet. If I had to guess, I'd say that after Earth fell, somebody in one of the colonies who knew about this place got the bright idea to come and arm up in the hopes of fending off the Minbari. Good for them. Not that it will do them much good in the end. Then again, maybe they just wanted to go down swinging."

"A grim thought. Let's go through the list of what we know is here. I want to ensure that we do this as efficiently as possible. We should be safe here from the Minbari, at least for a while, but the longer we sit the more likely they are to be ahead of us in force. I'd like to avoid facing another potential encirclement."

"Can we be sure they've even made it this deep into EA territory?"

"You tell me. Have you picked up anything from Deneb IV?"

"Not a peep."

"Deneb IV was a thriving colony with a substantial population and even a civilian shipyard. If we haven't detected any signals at all, then far and away the most likely answer is that the Minbari have already smashed the colony. Which means the Minbari have already been to this system and have the run of the place. Which _also_ means this station isn't _quite_ as secure as we would like."

"But," Garibaldi countered, "it also means the Minbari have already been here and gone, and didn't notice this place at all. They are less likely to look for us someplace they think has already been cleared."

"There is that."

"Relax, John. _Something's_ gotta go right for us. Every once in awhile."

An alarm sounded. "Jump point forming!" called the young ensign manning sensors. She was not the usual officer at that station, and John wondered how well his ship would fight with so much of his crew assigned to other duties.

"Man battlestations!" he called out, then turned an exasperated eye on Garibaldi. "You were saying, Michael?"

"I was saying that my battle station is elsewhere," he said sheepishly. He hurried off the bridge, and John focused on the hyperspace vortex now spinning on the main display.

"We're getting something...six vessels emerging."

 _Damnit, it's too soon! How the frag did the Minbari find us so fast? The fleet's not in any shape for a fight._ "Classes?"

"Reading…" she gasped and double checked her displays, but John could already see why she was so shocked. She continued her report, nonetheless. "Reading four Hermes class combat transports and two Tethys class cutters. Captain, they're Earth Force."

The transports were enormous things, dwarfing the tiny cutters flanking them. John couldn't believe his eyes. He wanted to shout. He wanted to cry. Instead, he made sure that his Captain face was firmly affixed, and ordered, "Open a comm channel."

"We're already being hailed, Captain."

"Then put it on screen." A moment later the screen flickered, and John's jaw dropped even further at the image displayed there. The face was a few years older, having put on more than a few new seams, but it was entirely recognizable to John's eyes. One of his heroes. One of everyone's heroes as far as he knew. The face staring back at him belonged to one of the great leaders of the Dilgar war.

"Admiral Dean, it's a pleasure, sir. I am...surprised to see you."

"Hah!" came back the mirthful reply. "That probably means you thought I was dead," his eyes slid to John's rank insignia. "Captain...Sheridan, isn't it?"

"You know me, Admiral? We've never met. I'm positive I would have remembered that."

"Well, hell son, who doesn't know Nuke 'em Sheridan? They sent out that damned video all over the Earth Force, after you took down the Black Star."

"Ahh...yes, Admiral. I got lucky. And no, Admiral, I didn't think you were dead. But, I was aware that you had retired over a decade ago. And that you had settled on…"

"Deneb IV. Which is where I got pulled back in. After nearly all of our assigned ships and officers returned to Earth to fight...and die…in the Battle of the Line, Governor Vasiliev became somewhat animated about rebuilding a defense. He called up everyone with a scrap of experience in anything remotely resembling the military, and I ended up in charge of the whole damned thing. I should be out feeding the local water fowl. Instead these old bones are stuck in zero G, trying to build up a force that might pose more of a threat to the Minbari than just death by laughter. But, Captain Sheridan, I think you might just have an interesting story of your own. And I am more than eager to hear it. Spill."

"Err..Admiral, it's a bit of a long story. Perhaps we could discuss this on Ragnarok? I think we might all be a bit more comfortable."

"Great idea, Captain! Let's meet aboard the station in half an hour. You bring the grub. I'll bring the beer."  
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Gideon stifled a yawn and leaned back against the bulkhead. He and the rest of the command staff were standing around, just waiting. An hour ago they had all been summoned to this corridor on Ragnarok, and were awaiting entry to the conference room in which Sheridan had been meeting alone with the Admiral for the last several hours. Despite his exhaustion he noted that Elizabeth and Sandra both looked decidedly nervous. Bester kept a much better poker face. For himself, if Admiral Dean decided that he needed to be cashiered for his actions, then he would thank the man and go and get some damned sleep.

He also noted several unfamiliar faces...presumably the Admiral's command staff. They were an interesting group; a mix of the very old and very young which reminded him very much of the the Exodus fleet's own makeup.

Elizabeth crossed the corridor and leaned up against the bulkhead next to him. "I still can't believe it. Richard Dean, Admiral extraordinaire. Alive, and all the way out here. What are the odds? I'd heard he was dead."

 _So we're talking now?_ Ever since she had called that disastrous vote, and he had sided with Sheridan, she hadn't said a word to him. She'd actively avoided him, and he'd written her off as a happy memory. Then, last night, after the end of one in an unending string of very long shifts, she had knocked on his door just as he was about to rack out. They were both staying aboard the station, running the retrieval and replenishment operations. He had answered the door, and she had simply pushed past him into the room. Expecting a fight, for her to finally vent her anger at him, he had closed the door and turned to her.

Instead, without saying a thing, she had kissed him, then proceeded to practically tear his clothes off. They had made love throughout the four hours he had set aside for sleep. When his alarm had gone off, she had risen and hurriedly dressed, again without a word, and left. He was left to wonder what the hell had just happened. Was she opening back up to him, or just scratching a one time itch. _Jesus, women are even more confusing than the_ Minbari. _Not that I'm complaining._

"Apparently not. Just think, if we'd just come this way right off the bat, we'd have linked up with him almost immediately after General Lefcourt's death. We wouldn't have had to go through all the horror we did, lose all the people we did."

She shrugged. "I don't know. Sure, we went through some tough moments, but we also learned an awful lot that we might never have otherwise. And, likely, we'd have just gone through some completely different horrors. Maybe we'd have lost fewer people. Or maybe we'd have lost the whole fleet."

He took the plunge. "Are we good? Given how things have been for the last few weeks, I kinda assumed you were mad at me."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Furious," she finally said. "But, I always knew you only did what you thought was best. I can respect that."

"Sooo….dinner tonight?"

She didn't have a chance to answer, as the door finally opened to reveal Captain Sheridan. "Come on in people." The officers began to file into the large conference room, taking seats around the table within. Admiral Dean was of course seated at the head of the table. Sheridan was the last to be seated, taking his place at the far end.

"I'm glad we had a chance to meet like this," the Admiral began. "Perhaps we should start with introductions. Captain?"

At his prompting Sheridan went through his officers in the room, starting with Sinclair on his right, then moving counterclockwise to Garibaldi, Gideon, and Franklin; then crossing the table to Bester, and coming back with Lochley and finally Levitt. The Admiral greeted each one in turn. Once Sheridan was done, he began introductions of his own. The six officers he had brought each commanded one of the vessels which had brought the Admiral to Ragnarok. Not one ranked above Lieutenant Commander.

"It's a true pleasure to meet you all," the Admiral said once the introductions had been completed. "Now, in order that we might all be current as to the existing situation, I have asked Captain Sheridan to provide a high level overview of the activities of the Exodus fleet over the last several months. Captain?"

Sheridan rose and stepped to a large display on the wall behind him. He hit a button, and it displayed the Exodus fleet as it existed, just a few day prior to the Battle of the Line. "Thank you Admiral. The Exodus fleet was conceived of as an ark, conveying the best and brightest of humanity beyond the boundaries of the Earth Alliance and the war to a new home, a refuge where we might begin again, to regrow and rebuild. It hasn't quite worked out that way." He then launched into a rapid and high level overview of the activities of the fleet over the last year. He briefly detailed the makeup of the fleet, the mad scramble out of the solar system, the attack on Mars, and the detonation of project Dead Duck. He changed the display to bring up a map of the known galactic hyperspace network. The route of the fleet appeared, expanding as he went through each of their stops and interactions along the way. From the initial race through EA space, picking up more refugees, to that first lucky kill against a Sharlin, and the initial discovery that telepathy might pierce the Minbari stealth systems. He covered the interactions with the Narn and the Centauri, the battles against raiders, and their attack on and destruction of the Minbari forward supply base. He touched on the disastrous battle against a mere Minbari scout ship, and the horrendous casualties which had come from it. He explained how telepathy had again proved to be critical in fighting the Minbari. He did spend a little extra time explaining the generosity of the Drazi, which had certainly saved the fleet, and the massive battle which they had witnessed as they made yet another running exit from Zahbar.

The Captain then launched into the flight from Drazi space, including the lopsided fight against the Minbari carrier. He covered the contact with the Abbai, the acquisition of their charts, and the technology exchange for their Particle Impeders. He touched on the decision to turn the fleet rimward, and the run through League space, including the bloody Minbari infiltration of the Midway, and the brief contact with the Descari. The Captain described the rearguard action against the Minbari fleet during the chase towards Vreetan, and the unexpected protection given by the Vree fleet. Finally, he covered the run back through EA space and to Ragnarok station.

The whole presentation sounded incredibly clinical and cold to Gideon's ears. It didn't quite take half an hour, which seemed far too short a time to relay events which felt like they had taken an eternity. It almost completely glossed over all of the horror and terror of those events. All of the tedium and exhaustion and desperation. All of the times they had thought that surely they had met their end. All of the confusion and anger and internal conflict. It never came even remotely close to mentioning the Council of Captains or any of the foolishness which had arisen from it.

"Thank you, Captain," Dean said, nodding for Sheridan to resume his seat. "Lieutenant Commander," he said, nodding towards one of his officers, "please make our guests aware of what has been happening out here." The indicated officer, a tall and lanky ginger, arose and walked to the display.

"In case you missed it earlier, my name is Lieutenant Commander Nick Locarno, Deneb Force."

He attempted to launch into his presentation, but Franklin interrupted him, raising a hand. "Excuse me, Lieutenant Commander. Deneb Force?"

The young man blushed, becoming flustered, but the Admiral cut in smoothly. "So far as we know, Earth was destroyed after the Battle of the Line. We've had no contact from Earth Force, and precious little with other EA systems since then. The men and women who make up the forces currently protecting Deneb are practically all home grown. A fact of which these people are rightfully proud. You'll just have to forgive us our little indiscretion, Doctor."

"Of course, Sir."

"Please continue, Nick."

Locarno cleared his throat, then brought up an image of the local area of space. "I suppose it all began at the start of the war. We have always had trouble with the Ch'Lonas and Koulani. It's been raids, mostly...them trying to push us and each other around. Earth Force," he blushed again, "had to smack them each around a few times, but it was never anything terribly serious, at least not since the near war we had when we first made contact with each of them." He took a deep breath. "That all changed when it became known throughout the local area that the Minbari intended to take us down. At that point, they stepped up their actions. Maybe they decided it meant we were weak. Or perhaps they just wanted to tear off a piece of the EA before it all fell to the Minbari. Whatever the reasons, the raids substantially increased in both power and frequency. At that point in time the local garrison for this part of the frontier had been only partially reassigned to the front lines. We still had a few dreadnaughts, about a dozen heavy cruisers, and a about a hundred lesser vessels. A not unimpressive force, but certainly not enough to conduct a war against not one but two hostile powers. Even ones as unimpressive as the Ch'Lonas and Koulani. Requests for reinforcements were denied. The war against the Minbari was not going well, obviously, and no forces could be spared. In fact, we were expecting even more forces to be drawn away. So, the local forces commander, Rear Admiral West, in consultation with then retired Admiral Dean, set up a trap. Before our forces could be too far depleted, the Ch'lonas and Koulani were both baited into sending in the bulk of their raiding forces. We had allowed them to capture information indicating that we would be testing a prototype EA wonder weapon at a hidden location. Said weapon would be undergoing a full shutdown for repairs and adjustment, and would be all but defenseless, ripe for the taking. It was a perfect opportunity for them to capture said weapon and prevent it from being used against them.

"They each sent a major fleet, but instead of finding a semifunctional Earth Force prototype, they found only each other. True to form, they both attacked, and only began to disengage once both sides had taken considerable damage. Which is when the EA fleet showed up. It was a slaughter, and when the Ch'Lonas and Koulani were finally able to break out and flee, they had each taken losses of over ninety percent. At that point, just a small increase in available forces would have allowed us to strike deep into enemy territory and cripple their ability for come back for at least a generation. Admiral West once again requested additional forces to finish the job. Instead, he was given a pat on the head and ordered to send half of his remaining forces back to Earth. We were told that the Ch'lonas and Koulani were beaten, and wouldn't be bothering us again.

"That was true, right up to the Battle of the Line. A few months before then, most of our remaining defense forces were drawn away, including all of our dreadnaughts and heavy cruisers, and the bulk of the remaining smaller ships. Admiral West and all of his officers went with them. All that remained was a single Orestes class system monitor, a couple of dozen Tethys class cutters, and a handful of Hermes class combat transports; all crewed by a undertrained and undermanned local reserve unit. Oh, and of course our fixed defenses, including Zanzibar station. And then the Battle of the Line happened, and we realized we were on our own. And, after the news of Earth's fall started to make its way out to the local powers, we started to notice signs that the Ch'lonas and Koulani might be returning...gutted mining craft, missing transports, that sort of thing. It started to look like the local bugaboos might take us out before the Minbari had a chance to.

"Governor Vasiliev decided that we weren't going to just sit around and wait for that to happen. He rammed through the largest armament program practical, and probably a few steps beyond into the _im_ practical. Our position out here on the frontier, as well as our climate and unique skyscape, meant that we were a popular destination for retirees...particularly military retirees. The Governor called them up, Admiral Dean included, as well as anyone else with even a scrap of military or paramilitary training. And he used those forces to train up the hordes of new recruits who had volunteered. We pulled old ships, anything the least bit military, out of the scrapyard and did our best to repair and press them back into service. Ancient Artemis class frigates, Laertes and Olympus class corvettes, that sort of thing. Small units that were long in the tooth even during the Dilgar war. Fortunately, Admiral Dean knew about this place, and those units suddenly became very nuke heavy. Deneb Force was born.

"We weren't quite ready when the Ch'Lonas made their first major assault. But then again, they weren't ready for _us_. I think they hoped to seize the planet before anyone else could lay claim, because their fleet, despite having a few dozen warships, was _very_ heavy on troop transports. Not a one made it to the surface or onto the station. You'll pardon the expression, but we tore them a new asshole, an experience they won't soon forget.

"Unfortunately, the Ch'Lonas and Koulani seemed to have settled their differences. They each continued to press the attack against us, but no longer seemed to fight with each other. A few months ago the Koulani punched a force into this system lead by four battleships and a half dozen battlecruisers. That fleet likely comprised the bulk of their remaining force projection capabilities. We lost a lot of good ships and people turning it back. That included the EAS Minotaur, our Orestes class Monitor and only truly heavy unit. Since then we've been using what ships we have left to try to keep any further attacks at bay. The Koulani seem to be spent, the Ch'Lonas attacks are once again on the upswing. They've nearly hit the planet a few times, and Zanzibar has a few new beauty marks, but remains otherwise intact and functional."

He hit a button, and the display switched to a view of Zanzibar station. It was a standard Orion class Starbase. It looked practically identical to Ragnarok, though the practiced eye could see that it carried both less armor and fewer weapons. It was a familiar and comforting sight, but it was what was in the background that pulled gasps or murmurs of surprise from the unsuspecting Exodus officers. "It is that functionality which was of the most concern to us, though the primary task assigned to Zanzibar was completed less than a week ago.

"What the frag are we looking at?" Garibaldi asked into the near silence.

"You may or may not have been aware, but Zanzibar, and to a lesser extent Deneb IV, was renowned for its production line of Achilles class freighters, one of the most productive shipyards in the entire EA. We were already producing ships at an extremely high rate in support of the war effort. After news of the Battle of the Line reached us, we switched production to a new model, and more than doubled production rates. We thought seriously about trying to switch to warship production, or even just arm the Achilles as Q-ships. But either of those would have taken a substantial period of time for line conversion; and that's not even considering the fact that we lacked the necessary tooling for weapons production in the first place. If we tried to produce a navy we were looking at the very real possibility that we would be overrun before the first unit was completed. And even if we did manage to get them rolled out in time, the finished units would be of limited value against dedicated Koulani and Ch'Lonas warships. They certainly wouldn't be worth a damn against the Minbari. So, we realized that the effort of producing warships was simply not worth the returns. Which left our consciences clear to pursue the course of action we had been hoping to from the beginning."

Lochley's eyes widened in understanding. "It's an Exodus fleet. You're building your own damned Exodus fleet."

"Built, Commander. We _built_ our own damned Exodus fleet. As I said, that task was completed less than a week ago, as you can see by that swarm of Achilles in the background of the image. It's extremely small and barebones compared to your fleet. But it might just give our people a chance. The standard Achilles class freighter has a crew of three and is capable of hauling one thousand metric tons. The cargo pods have always had a passenger module option, but it was rarely used, and not capable of handling the numbers we were looking at for the duration we expected we might need. We also thought that the engine power of the freighter might be a little anemic for our needs. So we did a complete overhaul of the module and the ship itself. The new model we designed has much more robust life support, improved facilities for maintaining health over an extended zero-G voyage, and thirty seven percent greater acceleration. We'll be able to cram in a thousand passengers per ship, along with basic supplies, and we now have a fleet of two hundred and fifty of them. However, fifty will not be carrying passengers, being designated for additional storage and as moving spares. As of right now, the passengers have been selected and the crews trained. We're just looking for the right opportunity to sneak through Ch'Lonas territory, and we'll be gone."

"I'm afraid that's where your information is outdated, Lieutenant Commander," Admiral Dean broke in. "Plans have changed. Have a seat please."

"Admiral?" he asked, a look of astonishment on his face.

"Have a seat, Nick."

Once the officer had resumed his seat, the Admiral leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head. He addressed the room. "The arrival of the original Exodus Fleet poses both an opportunity and a challenge...for both fleets. We could send off both fleets in separate directions. Wisest not to keep all your eggs in one basket, and all that. In this case, I don't think that would actually be the wisest course."

"Admiral, our plans…" Locarno objected.

"Will have to change, Lieutenant Commander." The Admiral sighed. "Our plans always had a hint of desperation in them. We simply don't have the power projection capacity to guard the fleet through Koulani or Ch'Lonas territory. Creating a diversion and sneaking the fleet through was always going to be a high risk endeavor. Captain Sheridan's fleet, on the other hand, has some real firepower and a good bit of experience getting through some tight squeezes. He has assured me he has a plan which will get you through."

"I believe I said it was a work in progress, Admiral," Sheridan tried to cut in, but Dean just kept on speaking.

"Regardless, not only will our fleet have better odds if it joins with the original Project Exodus fleet, the reverse is also true, and we'll both save more people."

"How is that, Admiral?" Sinclair asked curiously.

Admiral Dean collected his thoughts for a moment, looking around the room. "The problem with the Deneb fleet is that the Achilles just isn't very big. Finding room for supplies was tricky enough. There is simply no room for spare engines or reactors. Nor would we have the capability to install them mid voyage. This fact means we had to set aside fifty ships just to carry supplies and to act as backups, should we need to "change horses" mid stream. However, the Project Exodus fleet doesn't have these problem. Between the megafreighters, the repair and support crews and equipment, and all of the spares you have used up over the last several months, there is more than enough space to carry spare parts for the Achilles freighters. And you'll still have room to spare for all of the food, fuel, and munitions you choose to grab. So with minimal adjustment we can pack twice the passengers into each of our Achilles, with no need to leave some empty as spares."

"That would take the carrying capacity of our Achilles from two hundred thousand to five hundred thousand," Locarno said, nodding. "That would certainly be a major improvement. It's a lot more people than we had selected to make the trip, even if you count the alternates. I suppose we could go through another round of selections though."

"No, Nick. No more lotteries. Given all of the retirees and late life colonists, this settlement always had an older than average population. It makes evacuating the young a lot easier. We're only going to take the current passengers and the alternates. That represents essentially the entire colony up to the age of twenty-six and families with young children. It's the heart of what we were trying to save, and now we can take them all."

"But Admiral, that leaves nearly a hundred thousand seats empty! Why not evacuate some more?"

Admiral Dean sighed. "Because those seats _won't_ be empty, Nick. That's the benefit to the Project Exodus folks. Right now their fleet moves at a damned crawl. In taking on any civilian that could reach them, they literally filled their fleet with barely space worthy craft. Shuttles, lunar transports, personal yachts, intercontinental hoppers...anything and everything that was just barely capable of breaking orbit. Ships that can generally carry a few dozen people at best, less than a handful at worst. I've reviewed the logs. Not only do those craft substantially slow the fleet's maximum travel speed, they have also been far and away the largest consumers of spare parts and labor hours to keep them running. In system stops for repair and replenishment are considerably extended just keeping those ships operational. It was a laudable effort to keep as much of humanity alive as possible. But, it's also an anchor slowing them down, at a time when they need every advantage to stay ahead of the Minbari. They're going to relinquish a few thousand of those craft to us...the slowest and most labor intensive...for seats on those Achilles. That transition should dramatically improve the travel speed of the fleet, while also reducing the drain on available spare parts and wear on maintenance craft and equipment."

Levitt cleared her throat. "Your pardon, Admiral, but most of those craft are private property. Their owners may fight the prospect of relinquishing the only real wealth they still possess."

He gave her a sour look. "You may recall, Commander, that your fleet is under Martial Law? The civilians can deal with it, or be left behind. Or put out an airlock, their choice. Leaving those craft in service is a danger to every person in the expanded fleet, which I will not accept. Besides, we have a better use for those small craft."

"Sir?"

"One of the challenges of moving on from this system, for either the Deneb fleet or the Project Exodus fleet, is slowing or stopping Minbari pursuit. Once the Minbari get here, we'll put up the best fight we can. But, the whole reason Project Ragnarok was never activated was because we realized it had no real chance of stopping the Minbari, just bleeding them. We were hoping to buy some breathing room by launching as soon as possible. But Sheridan's fleet will need at least a couple of weeks to replenish, refit and run maintenance on the remaining vessels. We'll need about the same amount of time to adjust the Achilles freighters for higher occupancy. You'll want to be in peak condition to attempt a breakthrough of Ch'Lonas or Koulani space. So, if the Minbari come early, we'll need to give them a real fight. Zanzibar and certainly Ragnarok carry a lot of punch, but any stationary asset is of limited value against the Minbari. And currently our mobile assets are _extremely_ limited. Those thousands of civilian small craft offer a potentially significant asset for use against the Minbari. No, none of them could hold a candle to a Nial. But, pack one full of warheads and strap on a single use rocket, and you've got a weapon system that should put some serious hurt on the Minbari. Particularly when employed by the hundreds, or even thousands. We were already building up this capacity with our local small craft. Add in the ones you'll be trading us, and we'll have a truly significant force."

"Are you talking about nuclear kamikazes, Admiral?" Gideon felt compelled to ask.

"Nuclear, yes. Kamikazes….only if that is all that works. We're currently hoping that AIs, which we've been building a stockpile of, will do the trick. We won't be throwing human pilots into suicide attack...at least not for the first attack."

"AIs have never been successful in combat against the Minbari before."

"Yes, but they were primarily used as a means to improve targeting. Your own experiences show that the best way to defeat stealth, aside from telepathy, is to get into point blank range. A ramming attack is the definition of point blank range."

"We used AI driven missiles in the war, also with no effect, Admiral." Gideon wasn't sure why he was still arguing, but he felt compelled to point this fact out.

"Always in limited numbers. I checked the records. In almost every case, they ran afoul of Minbari point defense. It's something we should have noticed before, but at that stage of the war we were busy trying anything and everything to defeat their stealth, and were already pretty convinced that _nothing_ would work. The moment an attempt failed to bear fruit, we immediately moved on to the next."

"That doesn't mean it will work this time, Sir."

"No, it does not. We are prepared to utilize human pilots, should that AIs prove ineffective. Of course, that requires that we survive the first battle, in order that we might change tactics. Best if we think positive. But, I think we all need to face the fact that anyone left behind in Deneb to delay the Minbari, including myself and the bulk of the colony's citizens, is already dead. Better to go out slamming into a Sharlin than cowering on the surface while they pick us off one by one from orbit."

That statement left a very uncomfortable silence. Gideon firmly shut his mouth. However, it was Lochley who spoke up next. "I'm curious, Admiral. We seem to be focused on a fight. The Minbari have yet to find Deneb. Is there a reason you feel that discovery is imminent? For that matter, why the need to punch through the Ch'Lonas or Koulani? Could we not just head for Zafran and go around them entirely?"

"Excellent points, Commander. Our initial thought when building the local Exodus fleet was to head through Zafran. To that end, we've been keeping an eye on Zafran, as well as all of the other surrounding systems, sending shuttles through the local jumpgates. If there are no Minbari, or they are far enough away for the shuttle not to be noticed, it returns to report in. If the shuttle doesn't return, we know the system has fallen to the Minbari. Over the course of the last few months, every Earth Alliance system adjoining this one has fallen. They didn't exactly conquer Zafran. However, the Minbari showed up there several months ago, and are maintaining a presence. You may not be aware, but Zafran is considered to be unclaimed territory because several species inhabit it. Humans are only the most recent. The pak'ma'ra and Kinbotal both have settlers there. And there are also the native Wychad. The Minbari have been extracting the humans living there. So far they have elected not to bombard the planet, and their troops are on the surface, searching for any humans and seizing all they find. The limited intelligence we have been able to gather indicates that the other species are attempting to hide the remaining humans. However, while the Minbari have not actively attacked the other races, they are forcibly entering and searching homes and businesses. The locals are simply too afraid to put up much resistance."

Anger and disgust colored the faces of everyone around the table, but the Admiral still had more to say. "As to why I believe the Minbari might show up at any time, the answer is simple. They've been in possession of every system connecting to this one...Earth Alliance or unclaimed territory...for at least a month. In some cases several months. The only exceptions to that rule are Ch'Lonas or Koulani territory. And, as far as we have been able to tell, they appear to be actively exploring from every one of those systems, trying to find us. We are most likely the final remaining system of the Earth Alliance. Frankly, I would be more concerned, but recently something appears to have drawn off the bulk of the Minbari forces."

Sheridan cleared his throat. "Given the timeframe in which that appears to have happened, I'd say the most likely catalyst would be their confrontation with the Vree. Which means the Vree are probably now at war with the Minbari."

"Frag!" Garibaldi blurted. "First us, then the Drazi, and now the Vree. When are the Minbari going to stop? When is the League going to finally wake up and work together to stop them?"

"Based on their recent history," Sinclair answered, "I'd guess never. And that just might be the smartest thing for them. I'm not sure even the united League could stop the Minbari."

"But maybe we could help them. The Vree and the Drazi, helped us. Maybe we should think about what we can do to return the favor."

"No," Admiral Dean cut him off. "If this was the beginning of the war instead of the end of it, I'd argue to do everything we could to coordinate with and support the Vree and Drazi. But there's not much we can do to help them. The Minbari control the territory between us. And it was always the Earth Alliance that had the best resources and industry. That's why we were considered a greater power than the Vree or Drazi, both of whom have higher levels of technology than us. As it stands, there's not much we could offer them. More importantly, our highest priority is moving this fleet out of harm's way and ensuring the survival of the species. Once you're gone, if the opportunity presents itself, we'll do what we can to help the Vree and Drazi. I'm not sure what that will be, but we'll keep our eyes open. But for right now, we need to put every effort into getting the fleets merged and prepared, and getting them on the move. Are there any further questions? Good. You all have a lot of work to do. Dismissed.  
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Sheridan and Dean sat and watched as their subordinates shuffled out of the conference room. Only after the last officer had left, closing the door behind her, did the Admiral lean back in his chair and ask, "Well, John, how did we do?"

"I think they all see the wisdom in combining the fleets, but I don't think many of them are particularly thrilled by the idea. Your man Locarno, in particular, seemed rather upset, though he was covering it well."

"He was the top choice for leading the military contingent of the fleet...a half dozen Tethys class cutters….various models. It was all I could spare, or it would have been more. The Tethys wouldn't be of much use against the Minbari, but they made an ideal choice for shepherding civilian freighters on a hopefully short jaunt. You'll still be getting those boats, by the way, and I'd appreciate it if Nick was left in command. But, either way, he was looking at being in overall military command, and now he'll have to report to someone else."

"I wouldn't dream of challenging your command decisions, Admiral. And you're doing him a favor. Being in command of something like this...frankly, it's one headache after another."

Richard chuckled. "Just figuring that out are we, Captain? Don't I know it. But, Nick's young, and hasn't learned that lesson yet. And it was a recommendation, not a command. This is your fleet, John. You're in the hot seat. I'm not going to second guess your decisions."

"A lot of those decisions were mistakes, Admiral," John said quietly. "We lost a lot of good people because of errors I made."

"That's the job, son. It's the burden we bear. But remember this. I might have made many of those decisions differently. That you allowed that Captain's Council travesty to go on as long as you did...that's particularly concerning. I'd probably have shot them the first day. Or, since I'm rather bloody minded, had them keel-hauled in leaky space suits. That takes a lot of rope, though," he added with a smirk. "But, no matter what I might have said or done differently, the simple fact of the matter is that you are _literally_ the only officer in Earth Force who has had any reasonable amount of success against the Minbari, _at all_. So, the things I would have said and done differently would almost certainly have ended with the fleet dead, and the hopes for humanity's continued survival extinguished, somewhere along the line. So, no matter how many good people you lost, every other person that is with you is one that you saved. That ends up being a pretty damned good balance."

Sheridan nodded in appreciation, but continued his argument. "Still, sir. A fleet of this importance deserves... _needs_...a flag rank officer. Admiral, I'd like you to reconsider. As you said, I'm good at fighting the Minbari. But...my leadership, my ability to command these officers _outside_ of battle, that seems to be lacking. You staying behind in this system to delay the Minbari isn't the smartest move. Let me stay behind, do what I do best, and fight off the Minbari. I can do more for the fleet by buying it as much time as possible to get ahead...maybe even to lose the Minbari pursuit. Hell, the Minbari seem to be more than a bit obsessed with me. Just my presence here might draw their focus, and give the fleet more time to escape. You, Sir. You're the one with the ability and leadership to replant and regrow the human race."

"No, son. Building the future is a young man's game. I'm old, and my health isn't great. I might not even make it to the end of the journey, and who would lead the fleet them? Commander Lochley? You might notice that both your fleet and the one I am sending with you are filled with young people. Lefcourt and I did that for a reason. It puts the least burden on the survivors and gives the greatest chance for growth at the end of the journey. Frankly, in reviewing your personnel records, it seems that Lefcourt managed to season the fleet with a significant number of 'Old Salts.' I don't blame him. Given Earth's voracious appetite for defenders, I'm sure it was one of the few things he could do to get any experience in the fleet at all. But, it's an opportunity for me. Over the next week or two I'm going to be contacting all of them, asking them to stay behind and defend Deneb. For every one that chooses to stay and fight, I can transfer a couple of my Deneb boys and girls to your fleet."

"Admiral," John said, shaking his head, "those people have made it this far with the fleet. They deserve the chance to keep going."

"Sticking up for your people. I can appreciate that. Don't worry Captain. It will all be strictly voluntary. But I think you will be very surprised at just how many volunteers I get. As I said, building the future is a young man's game. The old fogeys like me aren't likely to relish the idea. The Earth Alliance is the only home they've ever known. At my age, people don't deal well with change. I'll bet you that most of them would rather go down fighting to defend or avenge their home, than to start from scratch on some alien planet."

"This fleet needs the wealth of experience those officers and enlisted people embody."

"You've had them for several months already, Captain. They've probably already delivered nine tenths of any experience they are likely to pass on. As for the rest...well, you'll just have to figure it out on your own. This is nonnegotiable, Captain. It's voluntary for them, not for you. I'm giving them the option, because I know that _I_ would want the option. And each one that stays means I can transfer more of my young officers and enlisted into your fleet...more than can fit on just those six Tethys I'm giving you. Those kids deserve a chance to survive as well, Captain, even though they're starting out on Deneb IV, rather than Earth or Mars."

"Of course, Sir." John grimaced. "You're completely right. But, I still have to argue one thing. This fleet needs an Admiral, Admiral."

"All right, Captain. I'll consider your request. That's the most I can offer."

"Thank you, Sir.  
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Bester strolled through the office door without bothering to knock, as though he owned the place. He slapped on his best insouciant grin. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Garibaldi?"

Michael looked up in irritation from the pile of work sitting on his desk. "You ever heard of knocking, Bester? I could have been meeting with someone."

"Oh, it's all right. I could tell from your mind that you were alone"

"What the hell? Psi Corp shuts down for a few months, and already you're reading mind's any time you feel like it? You stay the hell…"

He raised both hands, grinning. "Easy. It was just a joke."

Garibaldi grunted. "Not a very funny one."

Bester's grin only expanded. "I supposed that depends which side of the desk you're on. But you did ask to see me. So what can I do for you, Mike?"

"You can start by never, ever, calling me Mike again."

"Then perhaps you should call me Commander. You might try to recall that I am a superior officer."

"No, just a…."

"Just a higher ranking one," Bester cut in, with a grin. "You can do better than that, Mr. Garibaldi. I didn't need to read your mind at all to see it coming." Garibaldi was gritting his teeth, and Bester thought about twitting him again, but then he noticed something resting on display on Garibaldi's desk. "Is that the gun that killed Lefcourt?" he asked, reaching for the weapon."

"Don't touch!" Garibaldi snapped, slapping his hand down on the desk. Once Bester had withdrawn his hand, he continued more calmly, "and yes, it is."

"Why do you have it?"

"Because it was used to kill someone? Because I am the head of fleet security?"

"And why do you have it on your desk?"

Garibaldi hesitated for a long moment, scowling at Bester, but then finally said, "As a reminder. It reminds me that losing control, even for a second, can lead to disaster. Looking at that thing has helped make sure I haven't taken a drink this entire trip, no matter how bad I wanted one." He took a deep breath. "But I didn't ask you here to talk about revolvers. Tell me about Susan Ivanova."

Bester sat down in the most comfortable looking of the trio of seat in front of Garibaldi's desk. "Ace pilot. One of our best. Low level telepath who just recently was discovered. A P1. She has some connections to both Captain Sheridan and Commander Sinclair through her deceased brother, Ganya. And, apparently, she is a traitor. Possibly also a serial killer or copycat serial killer. Currently the most wanted person, man or woman, in the fleet. And she had help. Frankly, it is beyond me why Ms. Winters, Ms. Alexander, and Deputy Holloran are walking around free, rather than being locked up in the brig."

"That one wasn't my call, though I agree with it. They were committing crimes, however, the Captain felt it was with good intention. Technically, he pardoned them, which is within his authority. But that doesn't answer my question. Or, rather, I didn't ask the right question. I know all about Susan Ivanova. She's not the traitor. Tell me about that thing wearing her skin."

"Really, Mr. Garibaldi? You buy into this fairytale about a hidden personality rising up and wiping away the woman who was the darling of the fleet? It's pure nonsense. Just ask the experts."

"And who would they be?"

"Well, me, for one. Or any Psi Cop. Or any of our telepaths who focus on mental surgery. Or, if you don't trust telepaths, any psychiatrist or psychologist who specializes in personality structure or telepathic manipulation. Any of them should be able to tell you that what Ms. Alexander was suggesting was pure fantasy; _entirely_ impossible. The closest thing we have is the Death of Personality, and that takes a substantial amount of time and effort by a telepath, and leaves a functionally empty shell. Does that sound like Ms. Alexander's instantly arising and fully formed personality, without an implementing telepath? Frankly, Ms. Alexander has pulled the wool over your eyes. She's clearly still working with Susan."

"Talia backs up her story."

"I read the report. Ms. Winters was semi-conscious, with a significant concussion, given to her by Ensign Ivanova. Her account of matters is highly unreliable, and clearly influenced by Ms. Alexander's story."

"So that's your explanation?"

"It makes far more sense than a telepathic boogeyman. You are familiar with Occam's Razor?"

"I'll tell you what I'm familiar with. I'm familiar with Psi Corp manipulation. I'm familiar with the fact that I never met a Psi Cop who I didn't feel was lying to me."

"It sounds to me, Mr. Garibaldi, that your investigation is compromised by your own prejudices."

Garibaldi's scowl deepened. "I think Ms. Alexander is telling the truth. I think that if anyone has the talent to pull this off, it's you and your Psi Cop buddies."

"Then you are clearly blinded to the truth. Try to remember, _Lieutenant Commander_ , the both the Psi Corp and the position of Psi Cop have been disbanded. Try to recall that those former Psi Cops you are disparaging and accusing of treason, myself included, are working every bit as hard as you are towards the survival of this fleet. Now, unless you have any more relevant questions, I think we are done here. I look forward to hearing more of your flights of fancy in the future. They are always quite entertaining." So saying, he rose and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Bester travelled down the length of the ship to his parked Starfury. Only once he was aboard and had started the engines did he reach into his pocket and pull out the pearl handled revolver he had taken from Garibaldi's desk. Snapping open the cylinder, he looked at the cartridges. Only four. Well, that was to bad. It wasn't like he could requisition new ones without arousing suspicion.

He supposed that just having taken the gun was a risk. He had noted the camera in the corner of Garibaldi's office. If anyone reviewed the footage, they would clearly see him taking the weapon. But, before anyone would go looking through old footage, they would have to have a reason. Someone would have to suspect a theft. That someone would almost certainly have to be Michael Garibaldi, who wasn't going to notice the missing gun for a _very_ long time. The block he had placed in Garibaldi's mind would keep him seeing his precious 'reminder' right where it was supposed to be, until it finally faded. That wasn't going to happen for several months at the least. More likely it would be years. Commander Alfred Bester, Psi Cop at heart, had a feeling that the revolver would come in handy _long_ before then.  
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Commander Matthew Gideon was walking the halls of the Eratosthenes, ensuring the chaos of new crew assignments didn't get out of hand. Given its roll of exploration, the Eratosthenes had a significantly higher number of 'Old Salts' than most of the other ships. Partially that was due to the ship starting with a higher number of them. It wasn't uncommon for older officers and enlisted to transfer into non-combat positions. Their finely honed skills and experiences were often more appreciated. Additionally, the rotating sections of the ship meant that they didn't have to worry about zero-G deterioration, which became more pronounced and rapid with age. That fact _also_ meant that many more had been transferred to the ship over the course of the voyage, under Dr. Franklin's orders.

All of which meant that, when Admiral Dean began seeking volunteers from amongst the oldest military members of the fleet, he had started with the Eratosthenes. Shockingly, to Gideon anyway, over ninety percent of those he spoke with did indeed volunteer. Which meant that Gideon suddenly found himself with a crew roster that had been torn to shreds. Captain Sheridan was transferring officers and crew from the other ships, but Gideon was still getting a higher percentage of the new Deneb personnel than any other ship. All of which meant chaos.

It shouldn't matter as much aboard a ship which wasn't supposed to find itself in the thick of the fight. Given his experiences aboard the Midway, though, he'd be damned if he ever let that kind of thinking dictate his actions. So here he was, trying to help his XO manage all of this change. And to top it all off, his request for additional telepaths had finally been granted, so now he had to fit _them_ in. He knew at least one was inbound today, so there was yet one more thing for him to... _what the frag?_

Gideon's attention was drawn to one of the odder sights he had seen aboard a serving warship. It was...it was a damned kid...just walking around and taking pictures, as though he owned the place. There was still a stereotype floating around about Asians enjoying photography, and this young man fulfilled it to a tee. Gideon knew young. His last crew was comprised almost entirely of cadets, after all. But there was no way this kid had graduated from high school. Gideon wouldn't be entirely shocked if someone had told him the boy was still in _junior_ high school. As busy as everyone was, no one had yet intercepted him, though several were eyeing him askance.

Gideon strode forward and planted himself firmly in the path of the young photographer. He was looking everywhere but where he was going, and had nearly collided with Gideon before noticing him. His eyes widened and shot to Matthew's rank insignia. He clearly understood what they meant, and he sprang to something vaguely resembling an attention stance. He fired off a salute...with the wrong hand. His other was still cradling his camera. "Captain Gideon. It's truly an honor sir."

"Great. Now, who are you, and what are you doing aboard my ship?"

"You requested telepaths, Sir, and here I am. I've always wanted to join Earth Force, Captain, but never thought I would get the opportunity. I'm trying to get into the Academy next year, and they said my chances of being accepted were higher if I was already serving the fleet in some way. But, I would have volunteered regardless. Captain, I can't tell you what an honor it is to be serving with the youngest ship commander in Earth Force history!"

The kid was practically gushing, and Gideon had to hold up a hand to get him to stop, simultaneously plucking the camera out of the boy's other hand. "No image or video capture. We still have security requirements around here."

"Of course, Captain. I'm so sorry, Captain. It's just that I…"

The kid seemed ready to start gushing again, so Gideon cut him off. "What's your name?"

"John Matheson, Sir."

"Alright, Mr. Matheson. I'm going to put you on the bridge, where I can keep an eye on you. For now, though, come with me. Let's get you settled in. Then maybe we'll talk about getting you into the Academy."

"Thank you, Captain!" And, like an eager puppy, the young man fell into step behind him.  
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"Attention on deck!" the Sergeant at the door called out, and everyone snapped to attention.

Admiral Dean looked out over all of the officers gathered in one of the Ragnarok's gymnasiums. It was well over half of the officers and senior enlisted personnel of the fleet and the Deneb Force. They were all wearing their finest Dress Uniform. He couldn't be more proud of everyone in the room.

The preceding weeks had been grueling, but the work was done. The Exodus fleets had been integrated, the ships refit, repaired or rearranged as necessary. Even the bulk of the small ships he had appropriated had already been fitted with AIs, additional propulsion, and nuclear payloads. The improved Exodus fleet would be leaving in less than forty-eight hours. Which was why a celebration was in order. "What are you all looking at me for? This is supposed to be a party. As you were!" He made his way to the table of refreshments which had been set up along one wall, and snagged a couple of miniature sandwiches and a glass of champagne.

"Admiral Dean?" a feminine voice asked tenatively. "Might I have a moment of your time?"

"Commander Levitt. What can I do for you? Not business, I hope. This is supposed to be a party."

"I'm sorry, Admiral, it is. But, I've been trying to get ahold of you since that first meeting. Your aide keeps putting me off."

"I'm a very busy man, Commander. We've all been very busy. Alright, what did you want to discuss."

"Admiral, I want to try to convince you to take command of the fleet. We need your wisdom and your experience. The future of the human race might depend upon you."

"Oh, I don't know, Commander. The current command staff seems pretty capable."

"Capable, yes, Admiral. Also impetuous and combative. Captain Sheridan has taken us into fights we had no business participating in. This fleet represents the final hope for the human race, not his personal combat task force!"

Admiral Dean inhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Commander, are you sure that it's not your own ambition speaking? I'm well aware of that travesty of a Captain's Council that you were so instrumental in creating. You were lucky to be dealing with Captain Sheridan. I would have executed you myself."

Levitt betrayed a moment's shock, but quickly rallied. "Admiral, whatever actions I took were for the good of the fleet, not myself. If I was seeking personal gain, why would I be asking you to assume command, rather than asking that you promote Commander Lochley or me?"

"How should I know? Perhaps you think I will be more easily manipulated. Perhaps you think, correctly, that I would never promote you or Lochley past Captain Sheridan. Or perhaps you are hoping that I leave Captain Sheridan behind to fight a delaying action in Deneb, and that before too long my old bones pass on, leaving Lochley in charge by default."

"Admiral, I understand why you may think that about me. All I can say in my own defense is something my father once told me. He was a Major during the Dilgar war. It's even possible you may have met. My family has served for generations. My grandfather helped teach the Centauri a lesson when they were providing shelter to the Raiders preying on our colonies. Levitts have served in the fleet, on and off, all the way back to World War II, when one of my anscestors was a Lieutenant in the American SeaBees. My father used to tell me that one lesson the family had learned over the generations was that, while adhering to the chain of command is critical, there are occasions when a matter is important enough, when the order is dangerous enough, that in good conscience you must stand up and push back. I was taught that doing so is never without consequence, but that, if the cause was just, I should accept those consequences with pride. And so I do, Admiral. My actions were meant to safeguard the future of the species. If you intend to penalize or discipline me for those actions, Admiral, I shall neither argue nor complain. But I must state my beliefs one more time. This fleet needs an Admiral, Admiral."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise, and then he began to chuckle softly. "Would it surprise you to learn that Captain Sheridan made a nearly identical statement to me a while back? That he argued he should stay behind and lead the defense of Deneb, while I took command of the Exodus fleet?" She clearly was surprised, and flailing for something to say, so he took pity on her. "I promised him that I would consider his argument, and I have. I'll be announcing my conclusions in a few moments. Regardless of what you think of those conclusions, Commander, I want you to recognize that you've had your chance to stand up for your beliefs. From here on out, you follow orders. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Admiral. Of course."

"Now, I have more people who want to speak with me. Go enjoy the party." He walked away from her, giving her time to absorb his comments. There were indeed a great many people who wanted to speak with him, thank him, hobnob with him, or simply bend his ear on a variety of topics. He moved smoothly from one to the next, having long since mastered the social obligations that came with flag rank. He loathed those obligations, but he was good at them.

Slightly over half an hour later, his Aide approached, bearing an attache case. Dean made his excuses and disengaged from the conversation he was having with Lieutenant Commander Locarno's fiancee, Bella. She was a fiery young woman, and an engineer of no small talent who had been instrumental to all of the recent adjustments to the ships of the fleet. He was rather fond of them both, and had been hoping to officiate at their wedding. But, they just couldn't seem to set a date. Squeezing her affectionately on the shoulder, he turned and walked to the far end of the room, followed closely by his Aide.

Snagging a fork from a nearby table, he turned to face the room and loudly clinked it several times against his glass of champagne; only his second of the evening. "May I have your attention please?" It was a military crowd, and it didn't take the room long at all to reach a nearly complete silence as they all faced him expectantly. "I know this is a party, and a well deserved one at that. I hate to bring up business, but with the fleet so near to launching, there really is no better time. I have been approached several times, both by members of the Exodus fleet's command staff, and by members of my own command team, regarding the possibility of my assumption of command of the Exodus fleet, and the placement of Captain Sheridan in command of the Deneb defense forces. Some have mentioned this in the interests of the fleet, or of the survival of humanity. Others have intended this to be a gift to me, as a way that I personally might survive, and continue to contribute to our people. Either way, it was made very clear to me, multiple times by multiple individuals, that this fleet needs an admiral. I am forced to agree." There were a number of gasps, and a small murmur ran around the room.

He met John Sheridan's eyes. The man, predictably, had positioned himself at the front of the crowd. "I'm sorry, Captain."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Admiral."

"A statement which is not even remotely true. But, I thank you for the sentiment." He held out his hand, and his Aide extracted the official paperwork and slapped it into his palm. "Stand at Attention," he commanded the room. Unfolding the anachronistic sheet of paper, the Admiral began to read in a voice which carried to every corner. "Attention to Orders. I, Admiral Richard Dean, acting under my own jurisdiction, and since there's not a damned person left alive in Deneb or the entire Earth Alliance with the authority to deny me, am instituting the following command change to the leadership and staff of Project Exodus. Captain Sheridan, it must be noted, has done extremely well under exceptionally trying circumstances, into which he was thrust without sufficient training or guidance. Captain Sheridan has gained my trust and confidence as to his patriotism, integrity, and capability. Step forward please, Captain."

Dean could tell that Sheridan was a bit uncertain, but he covered it extremely well, and stepped forward without hesitation. "Captain Sheridan, I hereby order you to assume the rank of Commodore, Earth Alliance Earth Force. Effective immediately." His Aide stepped forward, having pulled the appropriate rank insignia from the attache, and replaced the former Captain's shoulder epaulets and breast stat bar. A surprised buzz ran around the room for a moment, and then the room erupted into applause and no few cheers. As the noise grew to nearly thunderous levels, Dean leaned in close to the Commodore's ear and spoke softly, "We're both exactly where we belong, John. But, now your fleet has an admiral. Or, at least as close to one as you're going to get, given how far I am already bending both tradition and regulation. Congratulations." He stepped back and offered a salute, which the Commodore returned, then shook his hand. Once again leaning in, he said, "Don't back up, John. Do an about face and stand to my left."

Sheridan didn't hesitate or ask questions. He just did as commanded. When he was in position, Dean stated loudly, "Commander Sinclair, step forward please." There was a moment of surprise before Sinclair approached. "Commander Sinclair, your actions and efforts do you proud. This authority recognizes that you have fulfilled tasks and duties well beyond the responsibility of Commander. In observance of that outstanding work, it is with great pleasure that I bestow upon you the responsibilities, the respect and the rank of Captain."

Once more his Aide stepped forward to update the officer's rank insignia. Dean shook the new Captain's hand, to another round of thunderous applause. "Take your place to Commodore Sheridan's left," he ordered softly. Sinclair shook Sheridan's hand, then assumed his position in line.

Once again speaking to the assembly, Dean said, "Lieutenant Commander Michael Garibaldi, please step forward." This name seemed to surprise the crowd, but he carried on as soon as Garibaldi stood before him. "Lieutenant Commander Garibaldi, yours is a particularly unusual case. You're a mustang, promoted directly from Sergeant to Lieutenant Commander, and across branches, due to the pressing demand for for your expertise. Under those circumstances, no one could be faulted for expecting you to fail. The fact that it was not an unmitigated disaster is more than a little surprising. The skill and success which you brought to diverse duties and situations that no one could have predicted is nothing less than astonishing. You were doubtless pulled across to the Fleet branch to allow your fellow officers to provide a higher level of support and oversight. Those factors have proven to be both unnecessary, and potentially a hindrance to future duties which may be required of you. I have, therefore, decided to once more transition you across branches. I had a difficult time choosing between the Security, Army, or Marine branches, but given the nature of the fleet, the Marines are the clear choice. It is with great pleasure that I bestow upon you the responsibilities, the respect and the rank of a Marine Colonel. As Admiral Dean shook Garibaldi's hand, the applause wasn't nearly as loud, but was present just the same. The new Colonel proceeded to shake the hands of Sheridan and Sinclair, receiving their congratulations.

The Admiral addressed the crowd one final time. "Alright folks. I've hijacked enough of your party. I've sent a list of many more promotions I would recommend to Commodore Sheridan, but the final decision will be his. I wouldn't expect to see any of them before the fleet departs in two days. I just want to say how truly proud I am of each and every one of you. You continue to astonish me with your ability to achieve the impossible. Enjoy your evening. You have certainly earned it. As you were!  
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The knocking on his door woke him. The accompanying message was more irritant than necessity. "Admiral, I'm sorry to wake you, Sir, but we have a development."

He sat up in the bed, scratching himself and rubbing bleary eyes. "How long?" he asked.

"You've been asleep for about three hours sir."

Admiral Dean stood up, stomped to his door, and threw it open. He slept in his PT gear, minus the exercise shoes, so had no concerns for modesty. Stomping back to the bed, he sat once more, facing his Aide. "Lieutenant, if I've only been asleep for three hours, then you better have a damned good reason for waking me. An old man needs his beauty rest. The fleet's been gone for what, six hours now? Did they return for some reason?"

"No, Admiral." He walked to the wall panel and called up a display. The screen showed nothing but an empty starscape. "Sir, about twenty minutes ago we registered a gravitational source in this sector. It faded out within a few seconds. We figured it was an uncharted asteroid, so we concentrated sensors on that region to make sure we had a firm size and vector for our navigational charts."

"Son, I seriously hope, for your sake, that you did not wake me up to chat about navigation."

The Lieutenant gestured again at the empty starscape. "That's all we found, Admiral."

He was missing something. His brain was fuzzy, but dammit, he'd only had three hours of sleep! "There's nothing there."

"Exactly, Admiral."

Alarm bells started going off in his head. "Gravitational readings?"

"Once we focused all of our gravitational sensors on this region, we started to get more consistent hits. But they _still_ kept fading in and out. And none of our other sensors are picking up a thing."

"Explanation?"

"Well, Admiral, it's _possible_ that we are looking at some form of dark matter anomaly. Such things….well, it's theoretically possible."

"But you think it's the Minbari."

It was a statement, not a question, but the Lieutenant answered it anyway. "Yes, Sir. Almost one hundred percent likelihood."

"And if the sensors are having a hard time even noticing them, then we have no idea how long they've been there…"

"It's certainly possible that they've only been here for the last twenty minutes or so, Sir."

"But it's just as likely that they watched the fleet depart."

"Yes, Admiral."

His tone was despondent, almost hopeless. That, more than anything, pulled Admiral Dean out of his drowsiness. "Wake the senior staff. Get me a channel to governor Vasiliev in ten minutes. He's going to need to begin evacuating civilians to the countryside. I want at least a third of our forces at combat readiness within the next five." He gestured towards the image still displayed on the wall panel. "And broadcast a message to that sector."

"Admiral?" The rapid stream of orders had seemed to focus the Lieutenant, washing away his fear. However, that last command had clearly thrown him.

"If the Minbari saw the Exodus fleet leave, then they can chase them down. Even with their improved speed, they won't be able to outrun dedicated pursuit if the Minbari have substantial forces nearby. Which means that there's only one thing we can do to help Sheridan and his fleet."

"And that is, Sir?"

"We have to grab the Minbari's attention and hang onto it. We have to be loud and obnoxious enough that they can't force themselves to bypass us. We have to make sure that they get sucked in, and that we don't let go."

"Admiral, if the Minbari throw everything they have at us, we won't last long."

"We don't have to last long, Lieutenant. Just long enough."

"Aye, Sir. What did you want the message to say?"

"Something short and to the point. You decide. Just tell those boneheads to come and get some.


	16. Chapter 15 - Sheridan's Run

**Chapter 15 - Sheridan's Run**

 **Hyperspace, The Vree Border - Minbari Fleet, Valen'Tha - April, 2249**

Delenn pursed her lips thoughtfully, then gave a silent nod of agreement to the man seated across from her. Satai Coplann was her chief political rival, and their relationship had become combative over the past several months. Delenn found that situation to be unacceptable. The Grey Council, leaders of the Minbari Federation, must act in harmony, holding themselves above petty political infighting. It should be entirely possible to disagree while maintaining a positive and amicable relationship.

And so she had proposed this luncheon. It was a chance to sit down with the man and work out their disagreements. Delenn was finding the meeting to be surprisingly productive. Coplann had come prepared to work. Beyond simply easing their interpersonal relationship, he had seen this as a venue for hammering out their political agendas; for finding areas in which they could agree, without having to involve the entire Council. They had indeed found many areas of agreement, and Delenn had no doubt that the resolution supported by both Coplann and herself would pass the Council with little or no opposition. She felt as though she had accomplished a month's work with one simple meeting.

Leaning forward to take a bite of her meal of alamara and ulabon, she heard footsteps approaching. "Satais," said a very familiar voice.

Delenn straightened and swallowed her food. Then, twisting her head to the side, she gave a shallow bow to the newcomer. "Shai'Alyt Branmer. Welcome. Would you join us?"

"My regrets, Delenn, but I am rather busy at the moment. I am glad that I found the two of you, though. I bear important news."

"Then please share it, so that you may return to your duties."

Branmer gave a shallow nod. "The human fleet has been located. Our forces spotted them leaving the human colony of Deneb, which our scouts have finally located."

Coplann rose smoothly to his feet. "Impossible! How did they get there?! They should still be in Vree space! Order those forces to give chase immediately!"

Delenn watched with fascination as Branmer inhaled deeply, then turned to make direct eye contact with Satai Coplann. "No."

"Excuse me? What do you mean, 'no?' The humans are once again in our grasp and you want to let them go!?"

Branmer looked at him calmly. "Not at all, Satai Coplann. I want to ensure that they have no further means of escape."

Before Coplann's anger could find outlet, Delenn quickly interjected, hoping avoid an increase in the infighting she had spent the morning smoothing out. "Please, explain your reasoning, Shai'Alyt."

Branmer's eyes swiveled from Coplann to Delenn, and she saw some small amount of gratitude in them. "It is quite simple Satai Delenn. Our war with the humans went so smoothly that we have allowed ourselves to grow complacent. We have continually underestimated Starkiller and his fleet of humans, to our detriment. They should have been chased down long ago, but our efforts have been haphazard and our tactics lax. Too often they have slipped through holes in our lines which should never have existed, allowing this chase to drag on for as long as it has."

He took a deep breath, glancing briefly at Coplann. "No more. Now that the bulk of our forces have returned from the coreward portions of League space, we have everything in place to finally put an end to this war. It was the arrival of those forces which allowed us to resume our hunt in Earth Alliance space, and finally find both Deneb and the human fleet. I will not allow hasty decisions to allow the humans to slip away again, or pull off another one of their tricks."

"And how do you propose to do this?" Coplann asked acerbically.

Once more, Branmer met Coplann's gaze directly, unflinching. "No more rushing. No more hurried chases after where we _think_ the humans are or will be. We currently have substantial forces in every system running in a broad arc from the Federation right to the Yolu border. We will begin sweeping those forces Rimward, entering, searching, and eliminating as possible refuge every system along that front. We crush Deneb, leaving the fleet nowhere to retreat. We move our forces deliberately, and in unison, driving the humans before us until they have nowhere left to run, and are either encircled or crushed against the Rim."

"You are being overly cautious, Branmer," Coplann proclaimed derisively. "There is no need for such effort. Not when we know _exactly_ where Starkiller is. Have the nearest forces give chase and attack immediately!"

"No."

"How dare you…."

Branmer cut him off. "I am in charge of our military forces, Satai. You do not have the authority to overrule me. The Grey Council, of course, does. But I do not believe you have the votes to force this matter."

As Coplann began to seethe, Delenn stepped in delicately. "Perhaps there is wisdom in the Shai'Alyt's plan. It was I who suggested pulling our forces out of Earth Alliance space to blockade the Vree. I believed that not even humans would be so insane as to reenter territory which we had conquered. As I recall, you agreed with me, Coplann. Had we not made that assumption, our forces might have discovered Deneb sooner, or even intercepted the human fleet. But this event proves something I had begun to suspect."

Coplann looked exasperated, but at least seemed willing to listen. "And that is, Delenn?"

"That there is nothing which is too mad for the humans to try. Their race is completely insane, or at least their leaders are. In the face of such madness, how can we ever predict what the humans will do next? Yet, if we follow the Shai'Alyt's plan, we won't need to. We will deliberately and thoroughly eliminate every avenue and option available to the humans until, in the end, they have none left. Then, finally, this war will be over."

Coplann nodded shallowly in acquiescence. "Very well Delenn. Branmer, you have my support."

Branmer offered a much deeper bow. "I will begin moving our forces immediately. Within no more than sixty hours, the assault on Deneb will begin."  
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 **Hyperspace, Approaching Koula - Detached Task Force, EAS Nova - April, 2249**

Commodore John Sheridan may have officially been a member of the Admiralty (likely one of only two members, these days), but he still had to fight his own ship, just like any Captain. Which was exactly what he was preparing to do. "How long, Laurel?"

"Sir, we are five minutes out from the Koula jump gate."

"The Eratosthenes?"

"Hard on our six, Commodore. Commander Gideon reports his ship is ready, his squadrons ready to launch. As are ours, Sir."

"What about the rest of the fleet?"

"Far enough back that they're not even showing up on our sensors. If the Koulani have anything guarding the gate from _this_ side, they won't pick up the fleet before we kick their door in." She hesitated, and then asked in a tone pitched only for his ears, "Commodore, should we be picking a fight with another alien species while we are still being hunted by the Minbari?"

He responded in a voice pitched just as low. "No worries, Laurel. The Koulani _aren't_ the Minbari. And you heard Admiral Dean yourself. They started this fight. We're just going to finish it." In a louder voice, intended for the entire bridge crew, he stated, "We will shortly be assaulting the Koulani home system. In doing so, we will ensure their attention is entirely focused on us while our fleet sneaks through, transiting the beacon directly to the next route, without reentering normal space. We enjoy a substantial advantage over the Koulani in tactics, experience, engineering and technology. Every time we've faced the Koulani, our forces have inflicted disproportionate levels of damage. We will seize and maintain the initiative for this fight. Although we will be massively outnumbered, and will not enjoy a technology gap as great as that between us and the Minbari, we will succeed so long as we don't indulge in overconfidence." He looked around, meeting the eyes of his officers. "Remember your training. Focus on your duties. You have nothing to worry about."

Laurel cleared her throat. "Sixty seconds to jump gate."

"Any sign of defenses on the hyperspace side?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"Very good. We go through shooting. All guns to individual targeting. Any targets that are clearly civilian may be spared, but if in doubt, burn it from the sky."

"Acknowledged. Reversion to normal space in three...two…one…"

The Nova exited the Koula jumpgate under full acceleration. A trio of Koulani corvettes stationed near the gate were lucky enough not to be directly in the path of the dreadnaught. They were _unlucky_ enough to fall directly in the kill zone of a half dozen of the Nova's turrets. They didn't survive long enough to return fire. The Nova, with the Eratosthenes riding close on its tail, left the shattered remains behind as they charged farther into the system.

"One hundred and fifteen million kilometers to Koula, Commodore," Takashima reported.

"Take us there, direct heading. But make sure we aren't directly in front of the Eratosthenes. Let's position ourselves slightly ahead and to the side. Make it look like we're in an escort slot. Let the Koulani get a really good look at her."

She raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but didn't question the order, instead carrying it out with quiet efficiency. Only after both ships were in position and heading for Koula did she turn back to the Commodore. "En route, Sir. It'll take us several hours to get there. It looks like they've got a proper welcome wagon for us."

"Do tell."

"I'm reading just over forty of their Sunclipper class heavy cruisers, in orbit over Koula."

"Good. What else is in the system?"

"Several dozen more heavy cruisers, and at least nine vessels of unknown design, but a larger class. We are tentatively classifying them as Battlecruisers. Until now we had thought the Sunclipper was the most dangerous ship in their arsenal. But all of those ships are spread out in penny-packets across the system, and aren't really in any position to intercept us before we hit Koula...not at our current acceleration, anyway. Anything else that is in position to get in our way is far too small to actually threaten us." She double checked something on her panel, then turned to face him once again. "Commodore, so far as I can tell, not a single enemy vessel seems to be altering course or facing. It's extremely hard to tell at this range, of course, but they don't seem to have altered their combat readiness stance either. It would appear that Admiral Dean's speculation was accurate."

"So, the Koulani don't have any kind of FTL sensors then. Good. That'll give them less time to prepare, and make all of those other ships irrelevant to the coming battle. We won't need to worry about anything except those forty Sunclippers, and the static planetary defenses. What are we looking at?"

"Their minefields and orbital weapons platforms are pretty light for a homeworld defensive screen. It's all anchored on one of their Pulsar class forts, which appear to be quite formidable. At least, I wouldn't want to face it without three or four more dreadnoughts to back us up. Other than that, a little caution should see us through the fixed defenses. Of course, the Eratosthenes is a lot more fragile than we are."

"Indeed. Well, we'll just have to make sure the Koulani _don't_ figure that out," he said, chuckling to himself.

"You're clearly up to something. I've seen that look before. Care to share with the class?"

"It's pretty simple, really. We have many advantages over the Koulani, but there's no way we could take down or even hold off their entire fleet by ourselves, much less deliver the kind of payback they've earned. Not if they play things smart. So we've got to encourage them to make some _dumb_ decisions. Did you know that the Explorer class has never operated in this area?"

She blinked at the apparent non sequitur, but said only, "No, Sir."

"Ships like the Eratosthenes represent a _massive_ investment. The brass was always unwilling to allow them to operate anywhere near hostile polities, particularly those who propagate pirates and raiders, as the Ch'Lonas and Koulani do. So, the Koulani have never actually seen an Explorer class. I don't know about you, Laurel, but the Koulani don't strike me as the types to do a lot of research on their adversaries."

"I'd agree, Sir. They seem more like the type to shoot first, and ask questions only if more shooting isn't available."

He chuckled again. "Agreed. So they've probably never even _heard_ of an Explorer class. And what do you think they're going to see when their light speed sensors finally notice us?"

She blinked, taking a few moments to think it through. "They're going to see an unknown but clearly Earth Alliance vessel which is over six kilometers in length. They're going to see a Dreadnought, likely the most powerful vessel they've ever faced in combat, apparently operating as an escort. They're going to think the Eratosthenes is some sort of….of...Superdreadnought!"

He nodded. "I've never cared for that term, but you are essentially correct. It also occurs to me that the two secondary docking bays on the front of the Explorer class look an awful lot like massively enlarged versions of the mine launchers on the front of the Nova."

She pursed her lips, thinking through the implications. "You want them to think it's a planet killer," she said, awed at his audacity.

"I'm not familiar with that term."

"Sorry, Commodore. It's a bad science fiction concept. The name pretty much says it all. A ship or space station with a weapon capable of mass scattering an entire planet."

He laughed. "Now that's silly. Not even the Minbari have anything close to that level of firepower. I can't even imagine the _size_ of the nuke required to pull that off, much less the ship to launch it. But, yes, I do want them to think the Eratosthenes is carrying a massively powerful weapon. Perhaps one which could be used to wipe out all life on their homeworld."

"They'd be desperate to keep something like that as far away from their planet as possible."

"Which hopefully means they will charge in to stop us without hesitating to think through the consequences of their actions. If that fleet in orbit of Koula decides to hold their ground and combine their forces with the Pulsar fort, we'll have no hope of touching them. But, if they come out to meet us in a deep-space battle, we can use our advantages to isolate their forces, and circumvent or eliminate them as necessary. At least, that's the plan."

A chime sounded from her station, and she glanced down, checking the display. "Your plan seems to be working, Sir. The Heavy Cruisers in orbit of Koula just reoriented on us. They're headed this way under maximum burn. They're barely taking the time to assemble into any kind of a formation. It'll still be a good while before they intercept us, though."

"Good enough. Let's get ready to greet them."

The next few hours felt interminable. Despite staying busy, few could take their minds off of the rapidly approaching confrontation. Besides, most of their preparations were just double and triple checking things which had been put in order well before they had even entered the system.

Finally, Laurel caught his attention again. "The Koulani are turning over, Commodore."

"Hmmm, right on time. We've already managed to get them to make a few mistakes, but whoever's in command over there isn't completely worthless at his job."

"I don't follow, Sir."

"If they want to stop us before we can attack their planet, they have to balance two things. First, obviously, is whatever they assume to be our weapons range. For safety sake they have to assume that is quite long, lest they set up a defensive line only to have us fire past it directly on their world."

"And the second?"

"Is the amount of time it will take them to destroy or mission kill us. If the Eratosthenes was as powerful as they likely assume it is, then it would take them quite a while to pound it into submission. They want to have as many options as possible for maintaining the combat envelope for as they can, which keeping us as far away from their homeworld as possible. Turn over too early, and we get too close. Wait too long, and we'll fly past each other so fast that they'll be lucky to get in more than a single salvo. By turning over right now, their commander has brought the fight well out and away from his world, and given them the chance to get into a real slugging match, if we decide to turn over hard to fight them. And if we maintain maximum acceleration, then they can at least get in several salvos as we blow past, and then loop around behind us, to hopefully catch us between the planetary defenses and themselves. If we do anything between those two extremes, and they're in an even better position. All in all, not a terrible plan."

"And will we be turning over or reducing acceleration?"

"Not a chance. The only change I want you to make is to adjust course to pass the planet on its sunward side. Our target is their homeworld; specifically, their infrastructure. If we're going to pull that off, we need every ounce of speed we can build up. It's really too bad. Look at how tightly they've packed their formation, presumably to coordinate and maximize their offensive and defensive fire. That, or it's a natural herding instinct due to fear. If we had a slower closing rate, we could hammer that formation with repeated salvoes of energy mines from beyond their range, and then close in for a gun kill once they'd been so crippled that they couldn't put up much of a fight. As it is, we'll pass so fast that we'll only get in a few salvoes, just like them."

John had Laurel shunt the relevant information to his panels, and used them to continue to keep an eye on the Koulani formation. They were maneuvering themselves into an even tighter formation. He spoke up again. "Their commander must really be focused on our guns. One of the benefits of having such an ostentatious show of firepower, I suppose. He needs to not only defeat us, but Laurel's 'superdreadnought.' He's hoping that, by concentrating his offensive and defensive firepower as tightly as possible, his force will be able to overwhelm us." He leaned back in his chair, wearing a smirk of satisfaction. "Good. They were looking to actually be a problem, all strung out like that. By concentrating their forces, they've packaged themselves up nicely. It will make dealing with them much easier."

"Sir?" Laurel asked with curiosity.

"They're so focused on our guns, they've forgotten the other weapons we carry." The smirk shifted to an outright grin. "Let's teach them the error of their ways."

Less than an hour later, they were about to enter weapons range. The main force of Sunclippers bore down on them rapidly. "All enemy ships have their weapons charged, and will soon be within firing range," Laurel reported. "Their ECM, such as it is, is at maximum. Entering the outer edge of our own weapons range in…" she consulted her panel, "...seventeen seconds."

Sheridan had his command face firmly in place. "We don't need to be too accurate Laurel. Close _counts_ in horseshoes and nuclear weapons. Just make sure they detonate short. _Fire_. And evade."

A pair energy mines shot from the forward launchers, rapidly closing on the enemy fleet. They detonated simultaneously, and two hundred megatons of energy expanded outwards, washing over the Koulani fleet. The three foremost ships took major damage. Two of them were forced to SCRAM their reactors, and went dead in the water. The third also took substantial damage, but was unable to dump their reactor in time. It detonated, destroying the ship, and doing further damage to the tightly packed fleet. The remainder of that fleet took varying degrees of damage, from light to superficial.

Destroying them, however, was not the plan. The commander of the Koulani fleet clearly _hadn't_ been expecting the energy mines. If he had, he might have taken some steps to protect his sensors. Instead, every one of their lightspeed, EM sensors were locked directly onto the human vessels. Which meant that they were all permanently or temporarily neutralized when the miniature nova erupted right in front of them. And, since the Koulani didn't _have_ any FTL sensors, they were effectively blind.

The moment the energy mines went off, the Nova and Eratosthenes began thrusting along another vector. They took themselves out of the path the enemy expected them to follow. And then the Koulani entered range of the Nova's cannon. As they rapidly swept past the blinded enemy fleet, the turrets on the Nova hammered away. The Eratosthenes did not fire the limited weapons it mounted. Maintaining the illusion of being an incredibly powerful megaship was more important than the little bit of extra damage it could provide. The enemy fleet fired back wildly, the strobing plasma barrage either unaimed or targeted along the humans' last known trajectory. It was almost entirely ineffectual. But they did manage to strike their own ships several times. The Nova managed a few salvos before leaving weapons range of the Koulani fleet. The gun crews had been ordered to randomly select their own targets, and to not fire on the same target twice. Though they did not manage to destroy a single additional ship, all but one of the Koulani vessels had been struck before the engagement was over.

"Did they manage to touch us at all?" Sheridan inquired calmly.

"We took a superficial hit to the armor above the number four engine. There's still some splash plasma burning on the plates, but it won't leave much more than a scra…"

"Full emergency shutdown of the number four engine," he ordered, cutting her off.

There was a moment of silence, and then the Lieutenant Commander replied. "I'm sorry, Sir. Perhaps I wasn't clear. The number four engine took no damage. There is no chance…"

He cut her off a second time. "Full emergency shutdown of the number four engine, Lieutenant Commander. Do not make me ask again."

Laurel blinked, but then performed the emergency shutdown herself. "Engine burn is out, Commodore. Now rerouting fuel…".

"Negative. Maintain fuel flow at one hundred percent."

Laurel's expression grew even more bemused, but she wasn't going to make Sheridan repeat himself a second time. "Fuel flow at one hundred percent, aye Sir. Now venting perfectly good fuel into space. We'll need to watch the engine temperatures for a bit, to make certain it doesn't reignite."

"Very good, Lieutenant Commander. Now, reduce remaining engines to eighty-five percent thrust."

"Eighty-five percent thrust, aye Sir." Understanding finally dawned. Concentrating on her work and not looking up, she casually stated, "you're simulating battle damage. Very curious."

Sheridan chuckled to himself, then responded quietly. "Well, we wouldn't want them thinking it's impossible to catch us. They might give up. No, we definitely want them to try, try again. But this fight isn't over yet, Laurel. We've still got the planet and all its defenses. Double check our heading and adjust to ensure we will still pass on the sunward side of the planet, despite our acceleration change. Project our new course and timing, and shunt that information to my panel. Remember that orbital fort. That Pulsar is much more dangerous than a few dozen Sunclippers. We'll need to be prepared. Oh, and do make Commander Gideon aware of our actual status. On a secure channel."

"Aye, Commodore."

Just a few hours later, accelerating the whole way, they were on final approach, closing on weapons range. Their "engine trouble" had led to a profound change in the tactical situation. Several of the knots of Koulani ships were closing on the planet, doing their best to interpose themselves between the humans and their homeworld. They would be too late, but not by much.

"I see now why you wanted to pass the planet on the sunward side," Takashima noted. "The Pulsar fort will be disappearing over the horizon a few minutes before we enter weapons range."

Sheridan nodded. "Which means all we'll be facing is that light minefield, a handful of defense satellites, and those few squadrons of fighters they scrambled from the surface. Speaking of which, are the Starfuries ready to launch?"

"Yes, Sir. All hardpoints have been loaded with the special weapons you specified."

"Good. Get them in the black."

Laurel gave the necessary commands, and shortly thereafter the Nova and Eratosthenes launched their fighters. The four squadrons of Starfuries quickly formed up into a screening formation ahead of their mother ships.

"I should point out, Commodore," Laurel resumed, "that while we can likely accomplish our attack on the Koulani homeworld, the correlation of forces after that point will quickly become very negative. Those battlecruisers and other knots of Sunclippers will be coming into range within a few minutes of our attack, and once we sweep past the planet, the Pulsar will be in a perfect position to fire everything it's got at us. For that matter, the first group of Sunclippers we fought has managed to turn around, and are slowly closing in on us as well."

"One thing at a time, Laurel. One thing at a time. Those ships are exactly where I want them."

She took a deep breath and checked her instruments. "Firing range in one minute. The enemy fighters are coming out to meet us."

"Too late. Make sure our fighter squadrons stay in screening formation. Have their individual targets been loaded to the on-board computers?"

"Aye, Sir. And our own cannons are targeting those OSATs."

"Good. Open fire the moment we get into range. Pave the road."

The Koulani Orbital Weapons Satellites opened fired first, putting over a dozen heavy missiles into space. Shortly thereafter, the Nova fired a pair of energy mines at a wide angle. They streaked towards the Koulani defenses and detonated. The explosion tore a massive hole in the enemy lines, the intense energies burning out mines, satellites and fighters alike, including all but two of the heavy missiles the Koulani had launched. And then the Nova's medium cannon fired, picking off the remaining satellites which were in range.

As the Nova and Eratosthenes continued to sweep rapidly towards the planet, the Starfuries opened fire, picking off the remaining two missiles, which were targeted on the Eratosthenes. The approaching Koulani fighters had been shredded by the energy mines, but what remained still threw themselves courageously at the human lines. They were no match for the tight and orderly formation of Starfuries. A bare handful made it through to perform a final attack run on the Eratosthenes. Gideon's ship, however, while being poorly armed as far as capital ships were concerned, practically bristled with defensive weapons. Its eight standard particle beams opened up, shattering the remaining Koulani craft long before they could do any damage at all.

"We're clear for now, Commodore," Laurel reported. "This opening won't last for more than another minute or so."

Sheridan opened a comm channel to the Starfuries. "All fighters, launch on your designated targets immediately, then return to your ships."

The Starfuries began to fire, each hardpoint laden with a special type of nuclear missile. Each missile was targeted towards a different location around the planet. Some headed directly towards the facing side, others moving towards the horizon, using gravity to loop around towards the far side. Almost four hundred nuclear weapons began to encircle the planet. As each Starfury fired off their last missile, they moved rapidly to reboard their motherships.

And then the nukes began to detonate, not striking the surface, but exploding in low orbit. The explosions were less than impressive, but physical fury was not their goal. _These_ nukes had been specially designed to produce the largest electromagnetic pulse possible. One EMP after another detonated above all of the major Koulani cities, industrial centers, and their very heartland. In a rippling wave, the planet went dark. Military installations and vessel which had been hardened against EMPs, like the Nova and Eratosthenes themselves, were largely unaffected. But the civilian infrastructure which supported those forces had just been sent back to the stone age.

A cheer went up aboard the bridge of the Nova. "Mission accomplished, Commodore," Laurel reported. "But, in about thirty seconds, we're going to be past the planet and taking fire from the Pulsar fort. Those battlecruisers will join in about a minute later, and within ten we'll have several dozen more Sunclippers and nearly a hundred smaller ships on top of us. I don't imagine they're too happy with us right now. If we reignite engine four and go to maximum acceleration, we'll drastically shorten the amount of time we'll be in their weapons envelope, but we'll be giving them shots directly up our backside. If we spin and face our heaviest armor towards them, we'll be in a much better defensive position, but we won't be able to accelerate, and will be under fire for a lot longer. Either way, we're going to take a beating. I don't know that the Eratosthenes can survive that kind of fire," she added quietly. "I'm not really sure that _we_ can."

"Which is why we choose option C, Lieutenant Commander. I presume the jump engines are charged?"

"Yes, Commodore," she said with relief.

"Then jump."  
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 **Deneb, Earth Alliance Space - Ragnarok Station - April, 2249**

Officers burst into the Command and Control room aboard Ragnarok, rushing furiously to various stations, calling up data. Admiral Richard Dean followed them in calmly, yet with intense and focused purpose. "Get those displays up, now! Make contact with Deneb IV, and get me a sitrep."

"We're getting a signal from Deneb IV, Sir," a major almost as old as he was noted. "They're still retransmitting their data feeds to us. They have one flagged as priority."

"Main screen."

The image which came up was not one which any of them found pleasant. It prominently displayed the shattered, tumbling remains of Zanzibar station. Plasma fires still burned in multiple areas within the wreckage. Further in the background, the remains of Minbari ships could also be seen.

Admiral Dean leaned back in his chair, sadly remembering the battle. The Minbari had come without warning; twenty-seven massive ships spilling out of a hole in space. Richard wondered what it was with the Minbari and factors or multiples of three. It felt rather arbitrary, but seemed to be a fairly consistent MO. The Minbari had started by targeting Zanzibar with their powerful beam weapons. The station was neatly carved up and falling apart, until the reactors had breached, engulfing the remains in a titanic blast. He should have died then and there, but dumb luck had found him on the surface of Deneb IV, in consultation with Governor Vasiliev. Finding himself still alive, he had ordered the counterattack with their secret weapon.

Thousands of civilian small craft, in varying orbits, made a break for the local jumpgate. The Minbari saw exactly what they expected to see, what they had seen in numerous other human systems...rats, fleeing a sinking ship. If they had been paying more attention, their finer sensors might have told them that there was nothing alive on any of those ships. Instead, the Minbari moved, almost lazily, to block them. Their war cruisers and war frigates interposed themselves between the gate and the fleeing humans, their neutron lasers and fusion cannon burning the human craft from the sky, and then they launched their fighters to do the same. And when the human vessels seemed to panic and try to rush past them to the gate, the Minbari still made no changes to their formation or tactics.

It was not until the first craft, a former waste reclamation trawler for an asteroid mining conglomerate, slammed into a Sharlin and detonated with over five megatons of explosive energy, that the Minbari realized the trap they had fallen into. They responded with decisive action, increasing their rate of fire and adjusting their formation, but it was far too late. Or rather, it would have been, if the AIs had not proven to be far less successful than hoped. Many ramming attempts ended up being misses, giving the Minbari the opportunity to burn hundreds more of the small craft from the skies. However, there were just too many of the robotic attackers, and soon the last Tinashi was a tumbling wreck.

Unfortunately, those ships had launched over two hundred Nial fighters. Rather than fleeing for the gate, those fighters now began exterminating the remaining small craft. Ramming warships hundreds of meters tall was one thing. Trying to ram nimble space superiority fighters was something entirely different. The Nials destroyed the human small craft by the score.

In order to preserve his forces, Richard had settled on detonating the flying bombs any time a Nial came somewhat close for a strafing run. The tactic had proven quite effective for a few minutes, felling well over a hundred Nials in the first minute alone. But then the survivors had pulled farther back, taking long range shots, keeping their distance. What had ensued was a cat and mouse game of attrition, a deadly weaving of vectors and destinations. Knots of human craft would separate in flight from one attack only to attempt to congregate around and envelop another, forming cages of nuclear fire. He would order ships to vector in and detonate any time they came within a few kilometers of a Minbari fighter. It was a tricky and delicate game. Richard had been _very_ good at it, but working through those clumsy AI pilots had been infuriating. It was like performing surgery while wearing oven mitts. They had destroyed thousands more of his precious ships before he had finally detonated over a dozen of them to take out the last Minbari fighter.

That had left fewer than five hundred small craft remaining to him and he had realized that the colony could not hold. They hadn't lasted long enough, not to keep the Minbari off of the Exodus Fleet's tails. They needed to keep the fight going for a lot longer. And so, after a final consultation with Vasiliev, he had decided to evacuate to Ragnarok. He collected his staff and as much crew as necessary to man the station for their final battle. He had given his people an hour to say their goodbyes, and then they had left Deneb IV behind.

An alarm sounded, pulling the Admiral out of his reverie. _Quit woolgathering_ , he chided himself. _Your people need you focused._ He was just so damned tired. After so many years in service, he had earned his retirement. This was a hell of a way to spend his final years. Hell, at this point, it was probably his final days, or even hours.

On the display screen, a jump point blossomed. Then another. Then a dozen more. Minbari craft began sliding into the system in their dozens. Richard checked the sensor reports. Eighty-one ships of varying sizes. _Another factor of three_ , he thought. _I wonder if there's some way we could use their habits against them_. The Minbari began to launch their fighters.

The remaining human small craft rose to meet them in a diffuse cloud. Richard had ordered the AIs torn out. Clearly, human pilots would be more effective. The Divine Wind had come to Deneb. Unfortunately, there were more Minbari fighters in the system than there were Kamikazes. No amount of human determination could make up for the performance gap between a former mail truck and a deadly killing machine which made even the most advanced human fighters comparatively look like, well, a mail truck. The Nials fired their light neutron fusion cannon from well outside of the explosive envelope of the human vessels, and it was done. Not a single human craft remained intact. The Nials took not a single loss. They continued to sweep forward.

Richard heard someone weeping behind him, but his eyes remained glued to the display. He didn't blame whoever it was. Her home was about to be destroyed. New jump points flared on the screen, and a dozen new vessels emerged. "What the hell are those?" someone across the room asked.

Richard didn't spare a glance for the speaker, but answered anyway. "Assault transports. Looks like the Minbari plan to put boots on the ground."

"Picking up a transmission from the Minbari!" the officer manning the data feeds called out excitedly.

There was a crackle of static, and then over the speakers came a polished, arrogant voice. "Human workers and religious. Surrender and prepare to be removed. Resist and you shall die."

Silence ensued for several moments, and then Governor Vasiliev's voice came over the line. Richard was quite certain it was the last thing he would ever hear from his friend. "There is an ancient saying from Earth, Minbari. It was not one used by my ancestors, but today all humanity stands united. So here is my response to your demand. _Tell it to the Marines_!" There was a hiss of static as Vasiliev cut his end of the transmission. The Minbari did not respond, only kept moving inexorably towards the planet.

The Nials reached the planetary orbitals and began killing the remaining satellites in orbit. Meanwhile, the troop transports were pushing through the shattered remains of the human kamikazes. There must have been someone still alive in that shattered wreckage, because suddenly there was a massive nuclear blast, and the nearest of troop transports was smashed sideways. Almost in slow motion, the large vessel began to break up, spewing debris and bodies into the void.

That last burst of defiance was still ongoing when the Nials killed the last of the satellites transmitting data to Ragnarok. The screen went dark to an angry murmur sweeping the room. Admiral Richard Dean took a deep breath, and glanced around the room. "Alright folks, break into your duty shifts. Anyone not on duty, rack out and get some sleep."

It was his aide who responded, the young man looking ashen. "Sir, how can we possibly sleep after seeing that…that…"

"The Minbari are going to be a while, reducing the planet," he said, not unkindly. "But they know we're out here somewhere. They caught a bit of our passage through hyperspace. They'll be coming. If you can't sleep, then get a meal. A big one. That should help. And we're all going to need all of the rest and energy we can get for what's ahead.  
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 **Hyperspace, Approaching Ch'Lon - Detached Task Force, EAS Eratosthenes - May, 2249**

Gideon sat, doing paperwork on his bridge, in the final hours as they made their approach to Ch'Lon. He had so much work, he couldn't let a spare moment pass idle; not even in the lead up to battle.

Lieutenant Commander Kathway approached, her footsteps loud on the quiet bridge. "Captain," she said softly, "sensors have detected a lone Starfury ahead. It approached just close enough to establish a solid sensor lock."

"It must be from the fleet, giving us an update on their status. Presumably they've opened a comm channel with the Nova?"

"It would appear so, Sir."

"And how about our pursuers? Will they detect it?" As expected, planned really, Sheridan's attack had enraged the Koulani. They had detected a large force giving chase, soon after jumping out of the system. Sheridan was still faking engine trouble, so there was a danger of being overtaken. A few energy mines had encouraged the Koulani to maintain their distance, however. For the time being, they were simply maintaining sensor contact, content to wait for the inevitable moment when the humans would revert to normal space, providing a much more favorable battlefield.

"Unlikely. The distance between the two is simply too great, given hyperspace interference. Whoever's in that Starfury is being careful to use tight beam communications. The Koulani should remain ignorant."

"And what about our Starfuries on rearguard? Have they reported any changes to the Koulani fleet?"

"It keeps growing, Sir. Our current pace has given a lot of their ships a chance to catch up. As of last count, we are looking at a dozen battlecruisers, over a hundred heavy cruisers, and nearly as many corvette sized vessels. If they catch us, Sir…"

She left the thought unfinished. It didn't really need a response, but Gideon felt the need to give one anyway. "Not to worry, Janice. The Old Man has a plan." She gave a tight smile, which revealed little of what she actually thought or felt. Gideon had a hard time reading her. He found her to be overly cold and aloof, but she did her job very well. He supposed it must be hard, being second in command to someone who was younger than just about any of the most junior of her officers. He wanted to smooth their working relationship, but she would need to meet him halfway.

A chime sounded from the communications station, currently manned by Lieutenant Sakai. "Captain," she called, turning to glance at him. "We are receiving a tight beam communication from the Starfury. It is designated as private, for you."

He nodded, standing up. "Shunt it to my cabin, I'll take it there." He nodded to Kathway. "Lieutenant Commander, you have the bridge."

His cabin was but a very short walk away, but he reveled again at being able to do something as simple as walk aboard a military space vessel. He felt better for his time on the Eratosthenes, and knew he was regaining both muscle and bone mass. Entering his cabin, he wasted no time in activating his comm screen and accepting the communication.

He was shocked to see Captain Elizabeth Lochley in her flight suit. Sheridan had promoted both her and Levitt to Captain the day after the fleet had departed Deneb. It was just long enough to ensure that both Sheridan and Garibaldi had seniority of rank on them. Captains didn't usually go traipsing around in Starfuries. Of course, she was the CAG. She could choose to play messenger if she wanted. "Liz, it's great to see you. To what do I owe the honor?"

"I just gave a status report to John. It seemed only right that you should be advised as well."

"Thank you. How is the fleet doing?"

"Well enough. We made it past the Ch'Lon beacon, and are now heading towards Zacalth. We didn't see any Ch'Lonan vessels, and are fairly certain we weren't detected. Once we get to Zacalth, we'll need to do a hard maintenance stop. Having the Achilles freighters instead of all of those small craft has helped a hell of a lot, but that's still a long way to go in hyperspace, and it's not as though we got rid of all of the small craft. Those remaining are a lot more robust on average, but they still need more maintenance than the big boys. Regardless, the fleet is clear, so you're free to enact whatever madness John has in mind."

"Don't approve, do we?"

"You know I don't. Whatever he is planning is pure insanity. We're on the verge of being wiped out, and he goes to war with not one, but two more species?"

"You heard Admiral Dean. They attacked us. It was already a war."

"Raids and piracy," she said dismissively. "Even if it was really a war, it was a war with Deneb. Or a war with the Earth Alliance, I suppose. Now it's going to be a war with this fleet, and that's not something we can afford."

"He's the boss, Liz. And Admiral Dean clearly trusted him. Maybe you should to."

"I can't. But that's not why I called. I wanted to see you before you went into this next crazy battle."

"Worried about me?" he asked with a cocky grin.

She smiled back. "Don't let it go to your head. But since I was here anyway...I just wanted to take the opportunity to say…" She took a deep breath. "To say that I love you."

Gideon was stunned. He'd had a lot of girlfriends, but none had ever said _that_ before. And frankly, he'd always known from day one that this woman was way out of his league. Snapping himself out of the daze he was in, he closed his mouth with an audible clop. _Funny, I always thought 'jaw dropping' was just an expression_. He was trying to formulate a response when she started laughing at him.

"You should see the expression on your face," she said, still chuckling. "It's ok, I know that was a bit of a shock. You figure out how you feel, and get back to me." She cut the line, leaving him staring at a blank screen.

"I love you too," he said to the empty room. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned and walked back to the bridge."

"Captain on Deck!" the Marine guarding the hatch called out.

Having that guard in place was a change Gideon had dictated upon taking command. He would do everything in his power to make sure no ship in his command was ever again caught flat footed by boarders. "As you were," he called out, then strode over to his chair, which Kathway was just exiting. "Status?" he asked her quietly.

"Forty-five minutes to system entry. Otherwise, no change."

"Time for final checks. Things are about to get exciting."

They weren't using the system jumpgate this time. Instead, Gideon had the Eratosthenes open a jump point, as she and the Nova slid into the system together. Having emerged only a few million kilometers from Ch'Lon, they continued forward without changing acceleration. "Full sensor sweep," he ordered. "Let's make sure we know everything that's out there. Maintain contact with the Nova, in case either ship misses anything."

Shortly, Janice was providing the details on the system defenses. "It's not good, Captain. Either the Ch'Lona weren't beaten down as much as we were led to believe, or they have substantial industry and have managed to rapidly replenish their forces. Either way, they have over a thousand combatant ships in system. The vast majority is small stuff; scouts, frigates, corvettes, a couple flavors of light destroyers, that sort of thing. But, about fifteen percent fall into capital classes. We're looking at heavy destroyers, light and heavy cruisers, battlecruisers, and a couple of flavors of carrier. From the mix that we're seeing, as well as ship disposition within the local task forces and groups, they clearly utilize a well developed combined arms doctrine which is at odds with what we've seen from their attacks on our colonies."

"Explanation?"

She took a deep breath. "The most likely option would seem to be that the Ch'Lonan forces we fought in the past were just raiders and pirates. Civilian or paramilitary, forces either ignored by their government, or possibly supported by it, so long as they turn their attentions outward. If that's the case, then what we're looking at here are the real professionals."

Gideon grunted. "What a pleasant thought. How about their fixed defenses?"

"Just as formidable. Not one, but _three_ Va'Lothar class space stations. And swarms of their Wylera class orbital weapons platforms. Both very heavily armed. As you know, the Ch'Lona favor a mix of laser and projectile weaponry, with some particle beams thrown in for good measure. That's a hard combination to defend against."

"Any good news?"

"They don't seem to have detected our system entry yet. Just like the Koulani, they appear to be limited to light speed sensors, at least, they are not reacting to our presence yet. Also, they've got two of the stations flanking the jump gate, and the third is part of a shipyard orbiting in the local asteroid field, so if we still plan to go after ' _just_ ' the planet then we won't actually have to deal with them. Also, they don't seem to go in for mines. We're not detecting a single one in system. That's about it."

"Small favors."

"Very small. Sir," she said tentatively, "this plan…"

"Not confident in the Commodore's plan, Janice?"

"Confident? Not exactly, Sir. In fact, I think it's completely insane, the next best thing to outright suicide. It can't possibly work. And if it doesn't, we'll have an unbeatable force both in front of us and behind us. How did he even come up with something like this?

"Blame your former CO. Then Commander Levitt mentioned in a meeting that she had some whiz kid aboard who was a hell of a programmer. Said she could make AIs emulate actual people."

"Was that while you were covering up General Lefcourt's death?" she asked innocently.

Gideon gave her a dour look. "You are _definitely_ not supposed to know about that. I suppose Levitt spilled the beans?"

"No, Sir. He hadn't been seen for a month, and then he suddenly dies with no real details given? It was a pretty easy farce to see through, if you pay attention. I _always_ pay attention."

He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, making sure that they weren't being overheard. "That's good to know, Lieutenant Commander. And you are correct. Someone did suggest drawing out that masquerade by faking communications from Lefcourt. But, it was rightly pointed out that an AI wouldn't be able to fool people for very long. It's too difficult for one to mimic a specific person. There are too many tells. I'm just as glad we didn't go that route. It's one thing to maintain OpSec. It's something else to lie to everyone about something so important."

"A lie of omission is still a lie," she said just as quietly. "Besides Captain, if it was a mistake _then_ , why are we considering it _now_? Kate's good...the best I've ever heard of. But your concerns about the Lefcourt proposal are just as valid now."

"Actually, they're not. I had your same concerns, but the Commodore pointed out three reasons they don't apply. First, we don't need the deception to last very long; just a few seconds, actually. Second, we aren't trying to emulate a particular person, just a generic 'person.' And finally, from the perspective of our intended targets, we'll be emulating an alien. How well do you know the native characteristics and speech patterns of, for instance, a Narn, to be able to tell if a single transmission is real or fabricated? This plan stands a real chance of working."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we turn around and run like hell," he offered with a shrug.

"Except that the Koulani are right behind us."

"Picky, picky, Lieutenant Commander. Do you want to live forever?"

"Yes, that would be nice actually," she said with a chuckle. A gesture from the officer manning sensors caused her to straighten and walk over. She studied his feed for a few moments, then turned and said, "Captain, we're starting to get movement from several of the ships in the system. Primarily moving to intercept. Their movement patterns and timing are consistent with their detection of us via EM sensors."

They watched sensor readings come in over the next few minutes, as more and more of the Ch'Lonan's defending vessels noticed them and began to head in their direction. Finally, with another chime from the sensor station, they received the news they had been awaiting. "Koulani fleet has entered the system, Captain," Janice advised. "They have increased to their maximum fleet acceleration."

Lieutenant Sakai, manning communications, turned her head, stating, "Message from the Nova. Commodore Sheridan orders us to initiate Project Semblance."

"Acknowledge," Gideon ordered. "Lieutenant Libby. You're up."

The dark haired young officer gave a smile and a nod, and launched the program without a word. Her fingers danced over her panel, and she ran and monitored the transmissions she had spent the last week perfecting. She had gotten to work directly with the Commodore in crafting those transmissions. She wasn't about to let anything go wrong.

The starfield displayed on the main screen suddenly winked out. In its place, four different images were displayed, dividing the screen into quadrants. Two of the images, those on the right hand side of the screen, were of Commodore Sheridan. The remaining two images, on the left, were both alien, one Ch'Lonan, the other Koulani.

"Forward transmitters aboard the Nova and Eratosthenes are synced and aligned," Lieutenant Libby called out. "Beginning transmission."

Suddenly, the two top images, one of the Sheridans and the Koulani, began to move. The images greeted each other. Their backgrounds clearly showed the bridges of two very different ships, giving the overall impression of two military commanders greeting each other. "Detecting no reflectance or bleedback. Images appear to be free of distortion or other artifacts."

Gideon nodded. That part was very important. The transmission was aimed forward only, so as to be picked up by the Ch'Lonans but not by the pursuing Koulani. It had been spread between the transmitters of the Nova and Eratosthenes, in an attempt to keep the Ch'Lonans from pinpointing the transmission and realizing that it was entirely one sided. But all of that work would be for nothing if something in the signal itself tipped off the Ch'Lonans that it was a fake.

As the prerecorded Sheridan and Koulani began to discuss the local Ch'Lonan fixed and mobile defenses, as well as suggested combat tactics, the Lieutenant continued. "Aft facing transmitters aboard the Nova and Eratosthenes are synced and aligned. Beginning transmission." Now the bottom two images, the other Sheridan and the Ch'Lonan, also began to speak. They greeted each other and began a very similar discussion. This transmission was being sent to the Koulani and masked from the Ch'Lonans. The AI was adjusting the recordings in real time, feeding in details of system defenses and the two fleets which could not have been prerecorded, as they had only been detected by the most recent scans.

Gideon watched all four panels raptly, looking for anything that might tip off either set of aliens. He was having a hard time following two simultaneous conversations, but he was well aware of what was being said. Sheridan and the Ch'Lonan were discussing the successful implementation of their trap. Sheridan was stating how easy it was to break through the Koulani home defenses and destroy their infrastructure, just as their joint plan had called for. He further stated how easy it was to get the foolish Koulani to give chase with the bulk of their forces. The Ch'Lonan officer encouraged Sheridan to head for the safety of the shipyard, while his own forces would envelop and destroy the Koulani fleet, thus leaving Koula ripe for invasion.

Meanwhile, the other digital Commodore was advising his Koula counterpart that they had clearly caught the Ch'Lonans unprepared, given how spread out their fleet was. He proposed that the human forces, and perhaps a small supporting contingent of Koulani vessels, would head for and destroy the shipyards. The Koulani agreed, and stated that his own forces would smash the Ch'Lonan defenses and then bombard their homeworld. He finished by noting that the "Ch'Lonans will be slaves before the day is out."

All four images said their farewells and signed off. The main screen snapped back to the prior display of the Starfield, some Ch'Lonan vessels in the far distance. "Transmissions completed," Libby noted.

"This can't possibly work," Kathway muttered under her breath, not quite quiet enough to avoid being heard.

"Give it a minute, LC," he called softly to her. "You never know."

Lieutenant Libby who, having closed out Project Semblance, had taken over the sensors station, suddenly called out, "Bearing change!"

"Report," Gideon ordered calmly, burying his excitement.

"Over ninety percent of the Koulani fleet has reoriented on the Ch'Lonan homeworld. Heading there under maximum acceleration. The remaining vessels are still oriented on us." She paused for a moment, then resumed. "The Nova has altered course, now heading towards the Ch'Lonan shipyards."

"Follow them in," Gideon ordered. "What about the Ch'Lona?"

"Most of them won't have gotten the message yet," Lieutenant Libby replied. "It was aimed at their homeworld, who will have to send out orders to their fleets. However, we're now picking up a flurry of activity in the Ch'Lon orbitals. They appear to be assembling a blocking force. A number of the closest Ch'Lonan task forces have reoriented on the Koulani fleet under their own volition. They can't possibly have received orders yet. Numerous forces now closing on the Koulani." She did some more checking and then stated, "the Koulani forces still chasing us will be within weapons range in just over half an hour, at our current acceleration. A Ch'Lonan task force will enter weapons range of us at about that same time.

"How long before the Ch'Lonan and Koulani force confront each other?"

In response, Kate pulled up a display of the main Koulani force. A pair Ch'Lonan destroyers had pulled up parallel to the force, perhaps in an attempt to ask them what the hell they were doing there. In response, over a hundred Koulani vessels opened fire on them, burning them from the sky.

"Frag me, it worked," Kathway muttered quietly.

Gideon displayed a Cheshire grin. "Excellent work, Lieutenant Libby. Very well done."

"Thank you, Captain. Sir, in about twenty minutes, the most serious of the Ch'Lonan mobile defense forces will hit the Koulani fleet. It's a major strike force, containing their newest and most combat oriented classes. It's centered on a half dozen Xer'Enthain class battlecruisers and another half dozen On'Thari class attack carriers. Their remaining capital ships appear to be ten Xer'Thari class strike cruisers, fifteen Tek'Kashi class heavy destroyers, and twenty-five Tra'Vora class light cruisers. The force is rounded out with a mix of Va'Kan class battle frigates and Mer'Tan class corvettes. There are roughly a hundred total of the lighter classes. There's one other significant, but smaller, task force that will intercept that Koulani before they enter weapons range of the Ch'Lon fixed planetary defenses. It's comprised of older and less combat capable ships, though. Other than those two task forces, everything will be coming piecemeal at the Koulani."

"The Koulani have the advantages of being concentrated, and mad as hell," Gideon commented aloud, not to anyone in particular. "But the Ch'Lona have more and likely better forces and doctrine. It's going to be a hell of a battle."

"What do we do now?" Janice inquired.

"We maintain our current heading, making it look like we are moving to attack the shipyards. We need to maintain the illusion for as long as possible, until those fleets out there are well and truly at each other's throats. Then we get the hell out of dodge. The _Nova_ wouldn't last long in an environment this hot, much less an oversized exploration ship.

It was almost exactly a half hour later, when they were about to be hit by both the Ch'Lona from the front and the Koulani from the rear, that Gideon ordered a jump point opened. As the two ships slipped into hyperspace, their last view of the system was of the massive battle roiling between the two alien forces. Despite being beset from all sides, the Koulani fleet continued to press doggedly forward towards Ch'Lon. Sensors detected swarms of tugs in operation around the planet's orbitals, madly dragging weapons platforms into a notional wall, meant to block the Koulani advance as far out from Ch'Lon as possible. And then the jump point closed, leaving the two ships in the relative peace of hyperspace.

"Commodore Sheridan would like a word, Captain," Lieutenant Sakai advised.

"Main screen."

The solemn face of John Sheridan appeared on the screen. "Excellent work, Captain. Please relay my congratulations to your entire crew, especially Lieutenant Libby. But you still have some work to do. The Nova will stand on the defense, in case anyone decides to chase us into hyperspace. In the meantime, you have half an hour, forty-five minutes at the outside, to hunt down the mass shadow of Ch'Lon. Report in once you have located it. Show me just what an Explorer class can do. Now, get to work." With that, he cut the channel.

"Alright folks, you heard the man. We've got work to do."

It was almost exactly forty-eight minutes later that one of Gideon's sensor techs spotted the mass shadow. If they had been farther away, or hadn't know exactly where the planet was in real space, they never would have had a prayer. As it was, it was a minor miracle that they were able to find it so quickly.

Gideon reported to Sheridan, the Nova still in a guard position, though not a single ship of either species had come through after them. "Commodore, we found it."

"It's about time," Sheridan grumped. "Are your Starfuries prepped and armed as I specified?"

"Aye, Sir."

"Then get them launched, and have them form up on the Nova. I want them in position in no more than three minutes." Sheridan cut the comm channel. The image that returned to the screen showed the Nova swinging about and heading towards the Eratosthenes. She was already launching her own fighters.

"Launch fighters, now," Gideon ordered, already knowing what would come next. "Is the jump engine charged?"

"Aye, Captain," Kathway responded.

This time the Eratosthenes crew met their deadline, and Sheridan commed again. "Time for the final act, Matt. Open a jump point for us, but the Eratosthenes is to remain in hyperspace. The Nova and our fighter escort will head through and engage the enemy. If we aren't back in fifteen minutes, head for Zacalth and rejoin the fleet. Let Sinclair know that he is to assume command. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then open that jump point."

The jump engines discharged, and the blue swirl of an exit vortex sprung up, starkly clear against the churning red hues of hyperspace. In the center of the vortex loomed the massive bulk of the planet Ch'Lon, the lights of numerous cities sprinkled across it's night side. The blur of a weapons platform streaking past the opening was seen, but otherwise the skies were clear.

The Nova fired a pair of energy mines through the gate. There was a pause of a few seconds, and then the bright flash of the detonating mines washed back through the vortex. Only then did the Nova and her fighter escort charge forward, crossing the threshold back into normal space. And then the jump point winked closed behind them.

The next several minutes felt like some of the longest in Gideon's life. Maintaining his calm Captain's face was a real struggle. He nearly sagged in relief when, just over seven minutes later, Lieutenant Libby reported a jump point forming, and put it up on the screen. The orangish tones of an entry vortex washed across the bridge.

"Train all guns on that vortex," Gideon ordered. "Let's not make any assumptions on who's coming though."

Happily, though, it was the Nova which slid gracefully into hyperspace. Several plasma fires burned on her surface, and one cannon turret hung at an odd angle. But by and large she seemed to have gotten off pretty light. Unfortunately, there were more than a few holes in her fighter screen. Gideon wasn't looking forward to finding out how many of those holes were _his_ people. But, for now, just getting most of them back was a victory.

As the Nova slid clear of the vortex opening, the bulk of the planet was briefly visible. Where before the lights of numerous cities had sparkled, there was now only darkness. _Good_ , Gideon though with grim resolve. _Enjoy neolithic living, assholes._

"Comm signal from the Nova," Lieutenant Sakai advised.

"Put it through." When Sheridan's slightly more haggard features appeared on the screen, Gideon offered, "Welcome back, Sir."

"It's good to be back."

"How were things on the other side?"

"Surprisingly light. The fighting between the Ch'Lona and Koulani has bogged down into a nasty bloody slog. The Ch'Lona stopped them well short of their home world, but they did it by throwing everything they had at them, including rerouting much of their planetary defenses. I wouldn't be surprised if even now most of the Ch'Lonan forces have no idea that their planet was hit. I don't think much in the way of a Koulani fleet is going to make it out of that system, though."

"I'm not going to shed any tears."

Sheridan grinned. "I don't blame you. Still, it won't be much longer before someone decides to pop into hyperspace to look for us."

"Ahh. Time to run like hell then, Sir?"

"Captain," Sheridan said, doing his best to scowl. "The proper military term is to withdraw in the face of superior forces."

"Ahh. I always get that one confused."  
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 **Deneb, Earth Alliance Space - Ragnarok Station - May, 2249**

For one of the very few times in Admiral Richard Dean's career, the attack didn't come at an inopportune moment. He wasn't sleeping, shitting, or screwing. He wasn't trying to catch a bite to eat, or exercising halfway across the station. In fact, he was sitting at his station, scrolling through sensor feeds and checking weapons readiness reports. He was, in fact, fully and completely ready when the attack came. It was a fraggin' miracle.

The alarms began to blare, warning of an opening hyperspace vortex. Three, in fact. Out of each slid a Sharlin warcruiser and a pair of Tinashi frigates. The Minbari had arrived. His crew was already rushing to battlestations, but there would be no need for them. His people had been working tirelessly to increase the defenses of this facility, since well before the Exodus fleet had arrived. The tools to repulse this attack were in place. The Admiral was already looking at the sensors. Their stealth systems might mask the Minbari ships themselves from a weapons lock; the jump points were another matter altogether. The sensors told him exactly where those were located, just a few dozen kilometers away, and his people had seeded nukes all throughout that area. Before the Minbari vessels had even completed their transition to normal space, Richard had armed and keyed those nukes to detonate.

Over a hundred warheads went off in a rolling wave across that area of space. The blast whited out his sensor feeds, obscuring the Minbari craft. When the visuals cleared, there was nothing left but scorched and tumbling debris. It was over before most of his people had reached battlestations.

He manually silenced the alarms himself. Keying the intercom, he said, "At ease, people. We just took out nine Minbari ships. But, make no mistake, they won't be the last. Get to your stations and buckle in. It's about to get rather exciting."

The waiting seemed to stretch on forever. It was tedium, rather than excitement, which was setting in when the next attack came, roughly thirty-seven minutes later. Instead of coming in close to the station, they had pulled back a good distance, nearly a couple of hundred kilometers, right to the inner edge of the thickest part of the rubble field which made up the massive planetary ring system.

Twenty-seven jump points blossomed across a very wide arc, each spitting out a single vessel. Once again it was a mix of Sharlins and Tinashis. Their distance from the station meant that there were a fair number of asteroids between them, blocking any clear shot. But, their range and spread were clearly intended to ensure they occupied a large enough volume of space that no possible minefield could cover it. Clearly they had learned something from their mistake.

 _Too bad it was the wrong damned lesson,_ he mused with satisfaction. _They'd have been better off coming in at their previous coordinates. We've already used up the nukes_ there. _On the other hand, that belt of rubble they've snuggled up to will make for some really_ excellent _fragmentation_. He blew the next set of mines. They were, of necessity, a hell of a lot more spread out. However, these nukes were all much more powerful, and emplaced on various large asteroids within the ring. As the nukes blew, they shattered the asteroids, sending rubble flying at high velocities in every direction. That rubble crashed into other rocks, sending both careening off at wild angles, leading to a massive chain reaction, a chaos of moving and bounding rocks, like the galaxy's largest game of billiards.

Within moments, the Minbari found themselves enveloped in an abattoir of flying debris. The commanders of several those vessels clearly knew they were doomed. Rather than attempting to evade or shoot down the inbound rocks, those ships began firing madly, attempting to hit the station and destroy it so no further waves of Minbari would have to chance the human traps. Unfortunately for them, there was far too much rubble in the way. Only a single Neutron beam managed to impact the station, digging into one of the most heavily armored areas. And then all of the ships succumbed to the maelstrom.

The station shuddered around the Admiral, but he ignored if for the moment. There was a wall of debris that was headed their way fast. "Get us under cover!" he ordered sharply. He felt a new lurch, as Ragnarok station began to move.

It had been his aide who suggested bringing all of Deneb's tugs with them, for use in supplementing Ragnarok's station keeping drives. Positioned around the periphery of the base, they increased the station's movement capabilities by an order of magnitude. Admiral Dean made good use of that added mobility now, sliding the base behind an enormous nearby asteroid, just in time for the wave of shrapnel to wash past them.

"Damage report," he finally commanded.

"Penetration on deck twelve," called out Master Chief al-Saud. He was one of the Old Salts whom Admiral Dean had swiped from the Exodus Fleet. Richard was glad to have him. "One section open to vacuum, which is helping to contain the ongoing plasma fires. Minimal damage, otherwise. Damage Control and Repair crews are working on it."

With a nod, Richard relegated that information to the back of his mind. He was already trying to predict the next attack. He didn't actually expect to survive it, but it was his job to keep planning and fighting until someone actually managed to kill him. Besides, as the numbers went, he should have been dead already. That might actually be good information to share with the crew. Still sorting rapidly through the available data, he activated the intercom and stated, almost absentmindedly, "Just in case anyone is keeping track, we've already taken out over three times the number of Minbari ships the bean counters back on Earth expected us to. I expect we'll take out a few more." He didn't try to offer them any empty platitudes about surviving this fight. They all knew the score. There were only three people who might make it off of this station alive, and the odds for them were miniscule at best. No, everyone who had come here had done so in the clear knowledge that they would be fighting a suicidal rearguard action. An attempt to buy the Exodus fleet just a little bit more time before the Minbari resumed their chase.

Despite his encouragement, he figured the next attack would punch their ticket. After two such significant losses, he was betting that the Minbari would perform a jump point assault. He considered launching his final assault, but it was a little too early. He wanted to buy as much time as possible for Sheridan to widen their lead. If his attack failed, the Minbari would be immediately free to head off in pursuit. _We've got to try to survive one or two more attacks. Then we can bring this thing to a close, and I can finally catch up on all that sleep I said I would get when I was dead._

He looked over at Major Carrie Samuels, whom he had assigned to their jury rigged navigation and flight control station. The grizzled harridan had practically built the interface herself; Ragnarok's previous station keeping controls being entirely insufficient for the task ahead. She was now able to tie in those station keeping drives as well as coordinate all of the tugs attached to the station. Feeding in the sensors and tracking systems provided her with an exacting viewpoint of their surroundings. All of it together allowed her to fly the beast with no small amount of precision. "Evasive maneuvers," he ordered.

She nodded, and the station lurched once more as she began a random series of evasions. They had discussed in advance the need to keep the station close to the mass shadows of the larger asteroids, in the hopes of spoofing the Minbari sensors. She now performed that task with her customary efficiency. The station darted from one to another, pausing for only a few moments before changing cover again. The station swayed and shimmied under the shifting accelerations, and anyone not buckled in had difficulty remaining upright. The onboard inertial compensation was not designed for the task now demanded of it, and there had been no way to upgrade it with the resources and time available.

As the station continued to lurch and vibrate, its structural members groaning alarmingly, Admiral Dean unfastened his harness and took a stroll around the room. He seemed completely oblivious to the shaking and sudden lurches of the evasive maneuvers. Solid as a rock, he moved sedately about Command and Control, checking on the various stations, as everyone else clung tightly to their safety harnesses.

Major Samuels glanced up at him and quirked an eyebrow. He smiled and said, "I got my sea legs in the Dilgar war. Our inertial compensation only worked half the time, and wasn't all that effective even when it was working. It's been a while since I had a chance to use them. It's kinda nice."

She grunted and refocused on her task, but he thought he caught a flash of hidden amusement and approval. _Damn,_ he thought. _If I was twenty years younger, wasn't her superior officer, and we weren't both about to die, I might have to take a shot at that one._ Of course, his dating skills were even rustier than his sea legs, so it was probably just as well.

It was almost exactly thirty-seven minutes later, well after Richard had returned to his seat, that the next attack came. It wasn't a jump point attack, but the Admiral was less concerned about his error than he was about the timing. _Damn. They can't be that stupid, can they?_ If any of his officers had made such a mistake, he would have chewed them a new one. All in all, though, he would take the gift. He just hoped he would have the opportunity to use it.

He focused on the Minbari vessels entering the system. Twenty-seven jump points. Eighty-one Minbari ships, mostly Tinashis but also a handful of Sharlin. They were entering the space midway between their previous two attacks. It was too far out to have been mined, and too close in to be near the shrapnel friendly ring system.

"Get us under cover!" he ordered. The Major did her best, sliding behind the large asteroid they were nearest. It still took time, and the Minbari took advantage, opening fire. Less than a quarter of the station was exposed when they did so, but that quarter was still horribly savaged by a half dozen neutron laser hits. The thick, heavily reinforced armor helped a bit, but only a bit. Damage alarms began to wail, and the shaking on the bridge intensified substantially. "Launch the scrubbers!"

A dozen large asteroids, sitting far off to the side of the battle space, suddenly stirred to motion, and began accelerating towards the Minbari. Although millions of tons of asteroid can't exactly be said to zoom, the acceleration they achieved was actually quite impressive. One of the final acts of the workers of Zanzibar station had been producing hundreds of surplus engines and emplacing them on those asteroids.

The Minbari ignored them, accelerating themselves towards the station and the rock behind which it sheltered. Within minutes they would be around that obstacle and carving up the last remnants of humanity within the system. The use of asteroids as projectile weapons wasn't unknown. Several species had used them, including the Dilgar and the Centauri. Of course, those species used mass drivers rather than engines to propel them, but the difference was immaterial. They were weapons of mass destruction, unwieldy and imprecise. Even if the humans had cracked their stealth, and the trajectory of those asteroids strongly indicated that they hadn't, simple maneuver and evasion would ensure that they'd miss by miles.

And so they did, passing just to the rear of the last Minbari ship as they made their final approach towards the humans' hiding place. And then the first of those asteroids detonated, the hundreds of megatons of ordinance dug down and buried deep in its core exploding as one. It erased over a dozen Minbari ships by itself. The explosion caused the next asteroid to tumble a bit off course, but it was still well within range when it blew, taking several more Minbari ships with it.

As the asteroids detonated one by one, they shredded the Minbari formation, chasing it with a wall of debris. The very lead Minbari ships engaged maximum acceleration, attempting to outrun the deadly projectiles. Only three succeeded, charging hard past the human station and its asteroid shield and towards the planet filling their displays. Several moments later, once they had comfortably escaped the latest human trap, they slowed and began to turn. The human station was now on the wrong side of its shelter, exposed and open for destruction. The Minbari would be happy to provide it.

They never got the chance. Their trajectory took them too close to the planet. Deneb I was very close to its parent star, and that star, roughly six orders of magnitude brighter than Sol, pumped an enormous amount of energy into the planet. The enormous gravity of the planet allowed it to retain something of an atmosphere, but that atmosphere was essentially one giant thunderstorm. It was filled to the brim with ionized gas and a massive electric charge just looking for a ground.

The trio of Minbari vessel, two Sharlins and a Tinashi, became the ground. The electrical discharge that struck them was less like a lightning bolt, and more like the finger of God. Watching it from an only marginally safe distance, Admiral Richard Dean knew that the kind of energies involved there could only be comfortably discussed in scientific notation. Frankly, he didn't care. Let the eggheads do the math. It might keep them busy for the next thirty-seven minutes.

"Shall I resume evasive maneuvers, Admiral?" the Major asked.

"Negative, snuggle us in close to this asteroid, and be ready to pull us back upon my order, with everything you've got."

"Aye, Sir."

The stress continued to build over the next half hour, as damage control teams attempted to repair everything they could. They focused on restoring the weapon systems in the damaged quarter, and were largely successful. The station was ready when, at exactly thirty-six minutes and forty five seconds, Admiral Dean ordered the Major to evade.

The jump point attack came twenty-eight, rather than fifteen, seconds later. Even then, the station wasn't quite fast enough to get away unscathed. While the massive rock they had been sheltering near was blown to rubble by the expanding jump point, they just caught the outer edge of it. That was still enough to mangle the outer edge of the station, and send it into a violent spin.

The station shrieked around them, and they were all hurled into their restraints. "Fifteen decks open to vacuum!" shouted al-Saud. "One of the reactors just SCRAMed! At least one of our primary structural members has shattered. We won't survive any significant acceleration."

"It doesn't matter," Major Samuels shouted over the noise of the still shuddering station. "We just lost two thirds of the tugs entirely. All of the rest have sustained at least limited damage. We aren't going anywhere fast."

"Shargotti emerging!" someone called.

"Open fire, all guns!" Dean commanded.

The station was severely damaged, its power was spotty, and it had lost over a quarter of its external weaponry. That still left it with a firepower equivalent to several Nova class dreadnoughts, and it was firing point blank directly up the enemy's rear. The Shargotti clearly wasn't expecting them to have survived. It hadn't even begun to turn; perhaps it hadn't even noticed them, before the station let loose with every gun it had remaining. At such short range, the Minbari stealth systems didn't do much more than throw off their aim by a few degrees, and the majority of the attacks struck home.

Shargottis, unfortunately, were built much more substantially than Sharlins, both internally and externally. The ship, burning and listing, managed to hold together through the barrage. It belatedly began to turn, now slowed by massive systems damage, in an attempt to bring its weapons to bear on the station. Weapons that were more than powerful enough to finish off that station. It was a race between the station's recharging weapons and the damaged engines of the Shargotti.

The station won, its second salvo shattering the Minbari vessel. However, that vessel had time to get off a single shot with a neutron laser, spearing directly through the heart of the station, and taking two more reactors offline. By some miracle, neither of those reactors blew, but the station was now down below minimum power levels.

Fresh alarms blared around the Admiral and he knew that, despite beating off yet another Minbari assault, this fight was now all but over. He wasn't going to wait another thirty-seven minutes to finish it up.

He keyed the intercom. "In a moment, we will be performing our final assault. Messengers, mount up. Let me take this moment to tell all of you...what an incredible _honor_ it has been serving with you. You have done your world and your species proud. You have done the impossible, not once, but several times, and accomplished more than anyone thought you could. Your work was probably critical to the survival of the human race. Now, here, in our final hour, I just want to say...thank you. Commencing attack."

He killed the intercom. "Is the Hermes ready?" Tucked away in one of their docking bays were their last two Hermes class priority transports, mounting the last two human jump engines in the Deneb system. One of those two transports had been connected directly to the station's reactors and power reserves, it's jump engines overcharged way past capacity.

"Yes, Admiral," his aide replied. "You know, Sir, that there is a very good chance that the moment you hit that button, the jump engine will simply explode, and take the whole station with it. Not to mention how unlikely the engine is to actually _work_. We'll have to be insanely lucky to pull this off."

Richard gave him a small smile. "We've already had quite a bit of luck today. Or maybe somebody upstairs approves of us. Either way, let's hope it lasts."

"Yes, Admiral."

He drew in a deep breath, then ordered, "Jump.

Power surged through the jump engines of the Hermes, and several fires broke out on board. Miraculously, it held together, and the swirling blue vortex of a hyperspace entry point appeared practically on top of the station. It was far larger than the Hermes's jump engines would normally be able to produce, and it churned and flickered unstably, but it held. In the center, the shadows of Minbari warships could be seen on the far side.

"Fire all missiles," he calmly commanded.

One hundred of the largest, most powerful missiles the Earth Alliance had ever produced leaped from their silos. In the early days of the war, there had been a lot of work creating high speed missiles, in the hopes that sheer speed would overcome both Minbari point defense and their stealth. Those experiments, though promising, had been ultimately unsuccessful. And the missiles installed on Ragnarok weren't even the most advanced produced during that time. In fact, Richard didn't expect to take out a single Minbari ship with the salvo. He didn't actually expect to get a single hit. He simply hoped that the Minbari point defense didn't take out too many of the missiles, and that they ignored them once they had gone past. More than anything, he hoped none of them noticed that as many as three of those missiles just happened to be travelling in the direction of the beacon route to Koula. He waited several moments, giving the missiles as much chance as possible to get well past the Minbari fleet."

"Jump point destabilizing," he aide called.

"Transfer all power to that jump engine! Shut down everything else...guns, life support, everything!" Turning his head towards Major Samuels, he barked, "use whatever tugs you have left to push us through."

The station began to move, but not quickly. Certainly, not quickly enough. On the main screen, the spinning vortex became visibly less stable. It began to shrink.

"Push us through!" he ordered again.

"We won't fit!" al-Saud shouted. Both Admiral Dean and Major Samuels ignored him, and the station slammed into the too small hyperspace vortex.

People were slammed against their restraints, many losing consciousness. The station screamed, dying around them. The guard at the hatch was hurled across the room, his heavy PPG spinning loose and striking the Admiral, shattering his left shoulder. His scream of pain was only one of many. The guards flight was stopped short when he contacted a support pillar, ending is a horribly wet and squishy sounding thud. One of the girders supporting the ceiling snapped, a huge chunk of it sweeping across the room, decapitating his aide, and cutting Major Samuels in half. It continued on punching partially through the rear wall, and smoke laden air was sucked rapidly through the penetration. There was vacuum on the other side of that wall. They were practically at the center of the station, and there was _vacuum_ on the other side of that wall.

Looking around, Richard noticed a strange flickering. Looking for the source, his eyes traveled across the window in the formerly guarded hatch. There was a massive plasma fire racing down the corridor on the other side. Continuing to look around, he realized he might be the only person left alive in Command and Control. He couldn't see al-Saud anywhere, but there was a vast amount of blood at his station.

And then they were through, the broken station practically falling into hyperspace. Somehow, the main display was still operational. The view outside was astonishing. They were surrounded by rubble. Bit and pieces, entire wings of the station, broken loose and floating around them. And beyond that were the Minbari. _My God, there must be at least two hundred ships out there._

He armed the nuclear trigger. Every single nuke stored on Ragnarok or mass produced on Deneb IV over the last year, every single nuke which hadn't been taken by the Exodus fleet or put into the mine fields or kamikazes, had been activated and emplaced around the station's reactors. What had remained was actually a pretty small percentage of the original numbers, but it would be enough.

Admiral Richard Dean took one last deep breath, watching the screen as a few ships in the Minbari fleet began to shoot the rubble of his station. "Catch you later, boneheads." He pulled the trigger.

The nukes detonated in unison, and the reactors added to the blast. The better part of seventeen gigatons of explosive fury swept out into space to greet the tightly packed Minbari fleet. The medium of hyperspace itself churned insanely. Less than a handful of Minbari ships, those both farthest from the blast and in the shadow of other, larger ships; survived the attack with living crew. Two of those stayed functional long enough to report in to their superiors far outside the system. Not a one ever made it out of Deneb.  
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 **Zacalth, Neutral Space - EAS Nova, Exodus Fleet - May, 2249**

"Now entering the Zacalth system, Commodore," Takashima reported happily.

"Acknowledged," Sheridan responded, not looking up. Now that they were rejoining the fleet, he was out of time. His crew felt victorious, and they had every right to. They had dealt a crippling blow to not one, but two enemy nations. And they had done so while taking ridiculously light casualties. But, that didn't mean no casualties. Those men and women often had family in the fleet, and that family deserved letters of acknowledgement from Sheridan, preferably to be delivered with, or not long after, the officers performing the death notification. Which meant he was running out of time. It was a grim task, and one he truly hated, but he would never consider shirking this duty.

Despite his distraction, he picked up on the change in atmosphere as all chatter on the bridge stopped, and silence descended. He glanced around, then looked up at the main screen. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing. When he understood what he was seeing he silenced a curse. The fleet was right where it was supposed to be, waiting to meet them. Only, over a third of it was missing. And there, in the middle of the screen, was the gutted remains of one of the cruise liners. Its main reactor appeared to have breached, tearing the enormous ship in half. Rubble drifted everywhere around the cold, dead ship. Sheridan did not order the image magnified. He did not want to see the thousands of bodies he was certain would be there, floating in the vacuum.

Laurel cleared her throat. "It would appear to be the Britannic, Commodore."

"Find out what the hell happened, Lieutenant Commander, and…" he was cut off by the alert from the communications station.

The officer there checked his panel, and turned. "Commodore, it's Captain Sinclair, he's…"

"Put him through to my panel," Sheridan interrupted.

The young man cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Err...Commodore, he says he wishes to speak with you in person. He's inbound in a shuttle with Colonel Garibaldi."

John thought furiously. If Jeff and Michael were coming here for a face to face, now, at a time like this, then whatever they had to say must be sensitive enough that they didn't want it being said over an open comm line, or even a secure one. At the same time, if they felt comfortable leaving their ships, then clearly the fleet was not in imminent danger. He ground his teeth in frustration, then said, "Tell them they are cleared to come aboard." Turning to Laurel, he ordered, "Bring them to my ready room the moment they get aboard."

Laurel waited outside, closing the door behind them, as John's two senior most officers entered the room. Jeff offered a crisp salute. Michael did something that looked more like a muscle spasm than anything else. John waved them to their seats. "Alright, what the hell happened?"

Jeff and Michael glanced at each other, and Jeff nodded for Garibaldi to speak up. "It was Lochley and Levitt, Sir. Apparently, they've been meeting secretly with all of the most important civilian captains for some time now, trying to form some sort of representative government. I'm sorry, Sir. I should have picked up on it, and…."

"Recriminations later," John snapped. " _Details_. Right now, I need details."

Garibaldi's posture straightened, his expression firmed up. "I'm not sure what exactly set them off, Commodore. It may have been Admiral Dean's promotions, which was clearly an attempt to pull Lochley, Levitt and Bester further away from top command. Or it may be that they were as upset by your assault on the Ch'Lona and Koulani as they said they were. Either way, Lochley and Levitt both left the Midway under the guise of a pilot training exercise. They somehow assembled three squadrons of Starfury pilots loyal to them, right under my nose, and just took off with them and disappeared. Right now, no one has any idea exactly where they are hiding. I wasn't even aware anything was amiss yet, when an open broadcast from them went out to all of the ships in the fleet."

Jeff cleared his throat, taking over the tale. "They called for all ships to resist the leadership of an unhinged and detrimental military command. They called for your removal, Sir. You, specifically, by name. They said that under the circumstances, you were far more likely to cause the extinction of the human race than to save it. Finally, they called for all ships who wished to join them to separate themselves from the main fleet and join them in Torlig. Then ships started heading for the gate."

Garibaldi resumed the tale. "Apparently, some of the civilian captains got it in their heads to disarm any Marine or GroPos contingents or other military folks on their ships, attempting to catch them by surprise, and keep them separated from their armories and weapons lockers. This lead to several violent conflicts. Since nobody was answering communications, we didn't even have any idea it was happening until some of the troops managed to seize their own long range comm devices.

"In a few cases, the troops managed to seize control of the ship, and return it back to the fleet. Somehow, the Captain of the Princess managed to space her entire marine contingent. And then there was the Britannic. The GroPos on board attempted to seize the reactor room, to shut them down and prevent the ship from leaving. The Captain attacked them with his ship's security forces. We don't if it was the fault of our forces or theirs or just a damned accident, but the reactor went critical and blew a few minutes into the fight. Not a single survivor."

"At which point," Sinclair broke in again, "I sent out a system wide broadcast to all of our forces operating on ships under the control of the mutineers. I ordered them to cease operations and shelter in place. I ordered them not to cooperate with the civilian leadership, but to take no action against them, unless they themselves came under attack. I'm not sure if it was the right thing to do or not, but our lives are too precious to just be throwing them away."

"What else?" John asked tersely.

"Not much. We let them depart for Torlig, while we stayed here to wait for you. I sent Commander Locarno and his cutters to tail them and keep an eye on things. I also dispatched scouts to all of the surrounding systems. I know it's counter to our tactics to date, but this problem with the mutineers isn't going to solve itself overnight. I didn't want the Minbari sneaking up on us while we try to sort out this mess. Also, it wouldn't hurt to know if there are any habitable planets in the vicinity. That was just over twenty-four hours ago."

"What about Commander Bester? Did he join them?"

Garibaldi hesitated, then reluctantly said, "No. He's still aboard the Mother, which stayed with the fleet."

"But you think he's involved."

"My gut says so, yeah."

"Or it's just your dislike and suspicion of Commander Bester. Did any telepaths go with them?"

Michael looked as though he had bitten into something sour. "A few. A very few. Almost all of the telepaths assigned to the Midway stayed behind. None of the ships that have building concentrations of telepaths went either. John, I think what we are looking at is a fifth column…"

"Possibly," Sheridan cut in, "but we have bigger problems to deal with right now. Focus on the mutineers, Michael. If they didn't get the Midway or the Mother, and obviously not the Lexington, then they don't have any military vessels. How are they going to support the Starfurys they took?"

"If they have the parts and the space, it's possible to support Starfurys out of a freighter," Sinclair offered. "It won't be efficient or fast, but it's possible. Frankly, missing military ships may be one of their lesser problems. The fleet they took doesn't look very survivable. Given the mix of ships they ended up with, they are missing several critical resources. Unfortunately, they also managed to monopolize a couple of critical resources we will need. We might be able to find workarounds, but without those ships, our survivability goes way down."

Sheridan stood up and began heading for the door.

"Commodore," Jeff called, "we have a lot of details to discuss. The fleet...the remaining fleet...is in chaos. We've got a thousand problems to deal with."

"And we'll be dealing with all of them. Don't worry, I'll be assembling the command staff so we can work on it. Right now, however, you both need to get back to your ships. I want the fleet ready to move out in half an hour."

"Commodore?" Jeff inquired as both he and Garibaldi arose, preparing to leave.

"This fleet stands a far better chance of survival united. We're putting the family back together. Prepare to make way for Torlig." They both nodded and began to step past him, but he had one more thing to say. "Mr. Garibaldi."

"Commodore?"

"I need you to pass an order on to your troops and security forces."

"Shoot."

"Exactly. Should any of your troops or security forces catch sight of Captains Levitt or Lochley aboard any of our vessels...shoot to kill."


	17. Chapter 16 - End Game

Chapter 16 - End Game

 **Torlig, Neutral Space - Exodus Fleet, EAS Nova - May, 2249**

The Nova slid out of the Torlig jumpgate, at the head of the fleet. The Lexington, Midway and Eratosthenes were hard on her heels, and they each began a rapid launch of all fighter squadrons. Waiting on them was a single Tethys class cutter.

"Comm signal from the Tethys," the ensign on comms reported. "It's Commander Locarno."

"Main screen," Sheridan commanded.

The screen flickered, and then they were looking at Locarno's pale face and bright orange hair. "Commodore. Welcome to Torlig."

"Commander. Where's the rest of my fleet?"

"They dispersed across the system as soon as we got here. There are some scattered throughout the asteroid belt, others in the Kuiper belt, and some hiding in the rings of a couple of the gas giants. I'm not sure they're trying to hide exactly, but they are trying to remain rather inaccessible. I spread out my cutters to keep an eye on as many as possible, but there were only six of us. We'll send you the locations of the vessels we still have a bead on.

"That doesn't make much sense. Why go through the effort of running from the rest of the fleet if they were just going to turtle up once they got to Torlig?"

"Hey, it's your crazy Earther politics, not mine. The Deneb boys and girls did exactly what they were supposed to." Sheridan gave him a dry look, but elected not to respond. Nick didn't seem to notice, instead continuing, "But, I think they want to talk. They've been sending out a prerecorded message from Levitt every thirty minutes. It's broadcast from a different ship every time, so it doesn't actually tell us where she's hiding. The next broadcast is only a few minutes away."

"Alright, we'll watch it. Stay on the gate for now. Sheridan out."

The message, once received, was short and to the point, Levitt's face showing little hint of any emotion. "Commodore Sheridan. You no doubt consider me a traitor, and perhaps I am. What I do, I do in the interests of the survival of the species. By now you have discovered that neither fleet has all of the resources it needs to survive. We are willing to negotiate the reunification of the fleet, but we have one demand which is non negotiable. You must permanently turn over command of the fleet to Jeffrey Sinclair, Michael Garibaldi, Alfred Bester, or Matthew Gideon. Any of these choices will be acceptable to us. Should you agree to this requirement, we will negotiate towards reunification. Upon the successful completion of that negotiation, Elizabeth Lochley and I will surrender ourselves to military authority. If you are prepared to negotiate, transmit a system wide general acknowledgment. We will then contact you with further details."

After the message had ended, Sheridan sat, silently staring at the now empty screen for several long moments. The bridge was silent around him. Finally, he turned to Laurel. "Assemble the command staff aboard the Eratosthenes in one hour." Their usual meeting place aboard the Olympic was unavailable, that ship being under the control of the mutineers. Having said what needed to be said, John stood and silently walked off the bridge.  
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Jeff Sinclair strode into the conference room without knocking, with Michael Garibaldi hard on his heels. Sheridan's command staff meeting hadn't accomplished much of anything, and had devolved into a think tank and running brainstorming session for dealing with the insurgency. That wasn't going any better, and it had been running on and off for over twenty-four hours, without notable progress. It was currently in one of its quieter phases, with nearly a third of the members away on other duties, including Commander Bester. Of the original Captain's Council, this left only Commander Gideon there, working with Sheridan and the lower ranking officers. Whispered conversations around the room ceased as they entered.

Sheridan turned to look at him. As far as Jeff could tell, he had just been sitting there, doing his best to look like he was in control of the situation. "News, Captain?"

Jeff didn't relish what he was about to say. "The last of the scouts I sent ahead has reported in. There are substantial Minbari forces currently searching the Torata Regency. Once again, our scouts were ignored as the Minbari performed an extremely thorough search of the various systems. Given the volume of resources we witnessed, the Minbari are likely to finish and quite possibly pass through to this system within days."

John sighed, and in a terrible breach of deportment, propped his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands for a few moments. Straightening, his red eyes and tense shoulders revealed just how much stress he was under, how little rest he had gotten. "Just like the Tokati Imperium and the Thrakallan Parliamentalism."

Jeff could only nod. "Yes, Commodore. Our scouts have now covered every direction save two, and there are Minbari down every route, headed slowly this way. Just two option, and we'll need to take one of they soon."

John clenched his fists, but otherwise brought his demeanor back under control. "So, our choices are to go back the way we came, try to sneak past what is likely now an open warzone, back to Deneb and Ragnarok. Hopefully buy ourselves time to find another escape route. Either that or we take our chances on this…"

"Z'Ha'Dum. The place on the Abbai maps marked as 'avoid at all costs'."

"Which _might_ contain some superpower who would scare even the Minbari, but which might just as likely wipe us out for even daring to approach. And that's assuming that the warning doesn't just refer to some sort of natural calamity or hyperspace danger which might destroy us just attempting to approach."

"But either way, that danger might mean the Minbari wouldn't even consider searching in that direction," Garibaldi offered, breaking in to the conversation.

Sheridan sighed and switched his attention to the Colonel. "And what about you, Michael. Any news?"

Garibaldi cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah. We've identified the structures the mutineers have been emplacing on the hulls of their ships." Locarno's cutters hadn't had the resources to keep tabs on such things, but shortly after the full fleet had arrived, they started keeping a much closer eye on the mutineers, and had begun to notice strange emplacements strapped to the outside of all of the rebel ships. They'd even witnessed a few spacewalkers in the act of emplacing them. Identifying what was going on had been one of the few productive activities available to them.

"Weapon systems?" John guessed. It had been the most common assumption during early speculation.

Garibaldi shook his head, his expression dour. "Explosives. Remotely detonated explosives."

A concerned murmur swept the room, but John's eyes stayed focused on Garibaldi with laser like intensity. "Why? Do they mean to self destruct their ships if we try to take them by force? But why even bother with exterior explosives? They could just detonated them on the inside, or blow their reactors for that matter."

Michael's expression became even more grim. "We've identified the location of emplacement for most of them. In each case they are directly above the barracks or armories of the military forces we had stationed on those ships. Best guess, if we make a move on the mutineers, or if those troops decide to try to do something on their own, then Lochley and Levitt will detonate the explosives, and our troops will get sucked out into vacuum. Hell of a way to go."

Jeff turned on him, expression horrified. "So by ordering those troops to shelter in place, I've signed their death warrants?"

"You aren't to blame, Jeff," Michael snapped. "This all falls on Lochley and Levitt. Your conscience is clean. Any blood is on their hands."

"Anything else, Colonel?" Sheridan interrupted.

"Just one thing. Might not be very helpful, but it's good news. "We've been getting low powered transmissions from _inside_ many of the rebel ships. From civilians, of all things. They've managed to steal or slap together ad hoc radios, or even laser comms. A lot of it is just requests for rescue, but quite a few are offers for help. It seems that Lochley and Levitt got the buy in of the Captains, but didn't bother to discuss with the _people_ on board those ships. By and large, they aren't thrilled, so far as I can tell."

"And you think that's good news?" Sheridan asked acidly.

"Of course," Garibaldi replied, taken aback. "It means we have more resources than just the troops on those ships. It means that Lochley, Levitt, and the mutineer Captains aren't as secure as they thought they were. Hell, I bet a lot of those ships are powder kegs, just waiting to go off."

"What it _means_ , Colonel, is that those civilians are still my responsibility. It _means_ that I can't just leave them to die with a fleet that doesn't have the resources to survive. When I was under the assumption that those ships were a uniform block of traitors, I at least had the _option_ of just taking the loyal fleet and heading off. Of working around the resources we are missing, which we _were_ in a much better position to do than the mutineers. It would have meant the loss of the loyal troops on those ships, but at least _they_ knew what they were getting into when they enlisted. That option just flew away!" Sheridan stood up angrily. Shockingly, he hurled his coffee cup against the far bulkhead, where it shattered, leaving a large mess of coffee to run down the wall. "Tell me, Colonel," he practically hissed, "what exactly do you expect civilians to do, when the military forces stationed on those ships were stopped cold?"

Garibaldi didn't shrink under his glare. "The unexpected, Commodore. The rebs expected to have to face the troops. They planned for it. They don't have the resources to watch the troops and their own civilians. Give me leave to plan an op. To make use of the civilians. Give me twenty-four hours, and I'll give you a plan for seizing the bulk of those ships."

"And lose all of our garrisons on those ships at the same time?"

"Maybe. Like you said, they knew what they were getting into when they enlisted."

Sheridan straightened, visibly beating his emotions under control. He took a deep breath. "Denied." Turning to Jeff, he ordered, "make contact with Lochley and Levitt. Let them know we're willing to talk.

"Commodore," Jeff responded in surprise, "please tell me you're not considering giving in to their demand."

"That I step down? I'd rather not, but we're out of time. If that's what it takes to save this fleet, then that's what I'll do. Set up the talks, Jeff. We'll see just how 'nonnegotiable' that point is."

"We could just lie to them," Garibaldi offered. "Once the two of them are in custody, you could resume command."

"No. It's not just Lochley and Levitt. We'll need the buy in of those civilian captains as well. Besides, my word is my bond. If I agree to step down...then you'd better be prepared to take command, Jeff.

"I'd really rather not," Sinclair responded in surprise.

"Sometimes we don't get what we want. Now set up the meet."  
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When the comm panel in his office chirped, Jeff Sinclair answered immediately. It had been less than ten minutes since he had sent out the broadcast indicating that Commodore Sheridan was willing to talk. Elizabeth Lochley's face appeared on his screen. She seemed surprised to see him. When he had first met her, he had thought she must be one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on. Now he had to fight back an instinctive wave of revulsion. "Expecting someone else, Captain?"

"Yes, actually. I assumed John would want to organize the meeting details himself. Try to take control."

"Sorry to disappoint you. The Commodore asked me to make the arrangements."

"No disappointment. So long as John really is willing to step aside, we're willing to reintegrate the fleet. There are some other things we're going to want, assurances for the civilians who followed us, but we can negotiate the details."

"He's willing to negotiate."

"He better be willing to step down. That part is _not_ up for negotiation."

"As I said, he's willing to come to the table. Are you willing to live up to _your_ end of the bargain? For you and Levitt to turn yourselves in?"

She took a deep breath and met his gaze squarely. "Yes. We are."

"It doesn't have to be like this, Liz. We can still work things out. There are things you don't know. Dangers. What's coming…"

"And I don't want to know," she said, cutting him off. "As far as I am concerned, right now John Sheridan is the single biggest threat to the survival of our species. I understand that you don't agree, but I'm not discussing anything else until this matter is resolved. I'm sending you coordinates now," she said, touching the controls near her own display."

"I've received them."

"They give a position in the local asteroid field. At that location you will find the junk freighter Albatross. You may feel free to send a security detachment to inspect the freighter. They will find that every room aboard has been set up with cameras and energy detectors. We will give you the codes for the feeds on those cameras and sensors, so that you may observe that the freighter is indeed safe for your negotiators. Your security detachment may ensure that those sensors cover every square inch of the freighter, or they may install cameras and sensors of your own, whichever you prefer. Just remember that we will be watching their actions. Any attempt to interfere with any of the equipment on that freighter will be seen as a violation of the terms of this negotiation, and our fleet will leave."

"You don't have the resources to survive on your own."

"We'll look for a habitable planet, and do our best to survive. If you don't like that idea, then don't screw with the gear," she said angrily. Taking a breath, she continued. "Once your people have withdrawn from the vessel, and assured you as to the safety of the location, send us a signal that you are prepared to begin. Sandra and I will board the freighter, which you will be able to determine from the camera feeds. The energy sensors will assure you that we carry neither weapons nor hidden communication devices. At that point, we will send a shuttle for you and John. No one else, just you and John. You forces may inspect the shuttle, but are not to interfere with it or its pilot. The shuttle will transport you to the Albatross. Again, the cameras will verify that you are alone, and the power sensors will ensure you are unarmed. Once we four, and only we four, are aboard the vessel, the camera transmissions will be cut, so that we may negotiate in privacy. The energy sensor feeds will continue, to ensure no one attempts to assemble a weapon once the cameras go down. Any attack, attempted incarceration, or trickery of any kind will be seen as a violation of the terms of this negotiation, and our fleet will leave. Are these terms acceptable to you?"

Jeff took a deep breath. "Yes."  
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Commodore Sheridan, Captain Sinclair at his side, entered the Eratosthenes shuttle bay, prepared for what might be his final act as commander of the Exodus fleet. Garibaldi waited just inside the door, clearly wishing to speak with them.

"How does it look, Colonel," John asked.

"We just finished sweeping the shuttle. The thing must be a hundred years old, and not well maintained, but it's clean and should survive the flight. As slow as this civilian POS is, though, you're going to be stuck in transit for quite a while. The pilot's a civilian we're familiar with. Gary McKinney. A real sleaze. Known member of the Mars Resistance. He used to date Tessa Holloran, before she wised up."

"But it's safe?"

"The shuttle's clean, but there's not a damned thing about this that's _safe_. This whole thing smells like a trap."

"We're the ones with all of the military forces, all of the security and intelligence services, all of the surveillance capabilities. If anything, they should be the ones worried about a trap. Which they clearly are."

"Well, they're certainly the ones calling all the shots. Commodore, once I got the coordinates for that ship, I had our best sensors take a look at it. They put it in the asteroid belt to keep it somewhat hidden until this crazy meeting was agreed to. But I believe that also left a hole in their security. I think I've found a way to sneak our own forces on board without tripping their sensors. Give me leave to…"

"Denied, Colonel."

"Dammit John, this whole thing stinks! Every sense I've got tells me something isn't right. And you're playing right into their hands. At least let me buy us some insurance!"

"No, we've got to play this one straight."

"Even though they won't? We have no idea what their actual plans are. And that's strictly aside from the fact that it's been you that's kept this fleet...this species...alive so far. Allowing yourself to be replaced...some might call that dereliction of duty."

John drew in an angry breath, ready to explode, but he caught himself. Clenching his teeth, he slowly exhaled through his nose. "I understand your concerns, Colonel. Do you currently have any actual evidence of duplicity on the part of the mutineers?"

"You mean, aside from the fact that they're mutineers?"

"Yes, aside from that."

Garibaldi sighed. "I suppose not."

"And did your people find anything when they searched the Albatross? Or notice anything amiss when Levitt and Lochley boarded her, just as they promised they would?

"You know they didn't."

"Then we're going to do this. Hell, even if I knew for a fact that they were double dealing us, I'd still go ahead. The Minbari are coming, and this may be our only chance to save those civilians. We've got to try." He reached out and set his hand on Garibaldi's shoulder. "Colonel….Michael, you're in command of the fleet in our absence. I need you to keep things together. We don't know how long these negotiations are going to take. We've started preparations for departure back towards Deneb. Get the fleet ready for us."

Garibaldi didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Yes, Sir."  
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Garibaldi was in transit back to the Midway, to take command from there, when the call was patched through to his Starfury. Commander Locarno had declared an alert, and was looking for the commander of the fleet. Sheridan and Sinclair had departed just before him and would spend the next several hours enroute to the Albatross. They would be completely incommunicado aboard the rebel shuttle, and that wouldn't change for however long the negotiations took. Which put Michael squarely in the hot seat. _Frag me. I've been in charge for less than fifteen minutes, and already there's an emergency. No doubt everything will go straight to hell, and they'll all blame me._

Taking a deep breath, he accepted the transmission. "Commander Locarno. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what to do about this." The image of Locarno's pasty face vanished, replaced with a shot of the local jumpgate. The lights on the gate began to cycle, and with a flash a vortex opened, swirling with the blues of a hyperspace exit portal. Something relatively tiny emerged. Garibaldi knew that it was only tiny in comparison with the massive gate. As he could see it, no doubt it was at least somewhat sizeable. The image zoomed in, revealing...what looked like a missile or old fashioned rocket.

The image cut off, returning to Locarno's face. "That was ten minutes ago. In case you didn't recognize it, Colonel, that was and Earth Force long range missile. It's broadcasting IFF, to confirm it. But long range was never supposed to mean interstellar, or even interplanetary, travel. Hell, those missiles don't come with ability to cycle a jump gate. Not that I've ever heard of. On top of everything else, as soon as it entered the system, it also began broadcasting a general SOS."

"Strange behavior for a missile."

"No kidding. So what do you want to do about it."

"It could be a trick, but I suppose we better investigate. Where could it have come from?"

Nick took a deep breath, looking pensive. "The only place I can think of is Deneb."

"Which would probably be a bad thing. Though I can't imagine it's possible for a missile to travel that distance. Can you intercept it? Analyze it?"

"My cutter doesn't have the capacity to take it on board. Nothing nearby does. But we could pull up alongside and have somebody space walk to it. Interface with the computers and maybe check under the hood."

Garibaldi grunted in amusement. "Sounds dangerous."

"At least a bit, but the missile's just drifting, no longer under powered flight. I'd like permission to try."

"Granted. Get back to me as soon as you know more."  
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Michael was just settling into his desk aboard the Midway when Locarno's next call came through. Answering immediately, Michael didn't waste any time. "What have you got for me, Commander?"

"It was a message in a bottle."

"Excuse me?"

"It was an attempt by Admiral Dean to get a message to us, without risking a Tachyon interception." Locarno looked extremely upset. Clearly, something significant was going on here.

"Slow down and give me the details."

The Commander took a deep breath, composing himself. "The missile was heavily modified. The warhead and as much weight as possible was removed. Enough to get one occupant aboard with minimal life support."

"Wait. It was _manned_?"

Locarno nodded. "I know...knew him. Master Sergeant Don Rogers. He was my drill instructor when I went through Basic." His face transformed in an angry rictus. "According to the computer logs, he ran out of air eleven hours ago! If it hadn't been for this damned mutiny pulling us to Torlig ahead of schedule, we'd have picked him up safe and sound in Zacalth!"

"Easy, Nick. The mutineers have a lot to answer for. We're working on it. I'm sure Admiral Dean didn't send Mr. Rogers out here on a sightseeing tour. Was there a message."

If anything, Locarno looked even more upset. "Yes. There was a recording from Admiral Dean in the databanks. Just in case that got corrupted, the Master Sergeant wrote it out by hand with pencil and paper. It was probably the last thing he did."

"And?"

"Deneb has fallen. The Minbari are coming."

"Holy frag…"

"You can say that again. Seems to me, this means that our only option will be to head for Z'ha'dum. Not much of an option, if I understand correctly."

"Not good. Who else knows about this?"

"Just me and my crew."

"Keep it that way. Until you receive further instructions, you are not to discuss this matter with anyone, for any reason. Understood?"

"Yes."

"I've got to deal with this. Garibaldi out." As soon as the link was disconnected, Michael ran his fingers through his hair. What the hell was he supposed to do now. Sheridan and Sinclair _needed_ to know. But they were out of the loop, still enroute to the Albatross. How long would the negotiations last? Hours? _Days_?! There was no time.

A decision had to be made. _Well, I guess that's why they pay me the...oh, hell, my pay is crap_. He made his decision. This crisis couldn't wait, but neither did he want to completely ignore Sheridan's wishes and grab the shuttle, or send troops to board the Albatross. Fortunately, he had already worked up that plan for sneaking on board. Maybe he could talk to Sheridan, make him aware, without tipping of the mutineers. And if that failed...well, he would just _make_ them listen to reason.

He activated his Link and contacted Deputy Holloran. "Tessa. I need you in my office. Now."

He looked across his desk. He had no intention of going into that situation unarmed. But he had planned for that as well. There, sitting where he had left it, was one of the few weapons in the fleet, possibly the _only_ weapon, which wouldn't set of the energy sensors both sides had emplaced. Well, aside from knives, or the odd mameluke sword carried by one of the marines. But, as far as Garibaldi was concerned, it wasn't a real weapon if you actually had to reach out and touch someone to use it. He reached across the desk and grabbed it.

"Chief. Chief. Chief. _Chief!_ _Colonel Garibaldi!_ "

Someone was roughly shaking his shoulder. Blinking, he turned and snarled at her. "What the hell? _Lay off!_ " It was Tessa. "When did you get here?"

"Chief, I've been here for over a minute. You were just leaning across your desk, resting your hand on the spot you used to keep that antique gun. Are you ok? I couldn't get your attention, even when I shouted at you. Maybe you need to get more sleep."

"We all do," he responded in confusion. Then something she said registered. "Wait, what do you mean where I _used_ to keep that gun?" He looked down at his hand, where he could still feel the pearl handle. His hand was empty. His eyes shot to the corner of his desk. The gun wasn't there either.

"It's been gone for a while now. I assumed you just put it away. The gaudy thing was kind of an eye sore."

He stared back and forth between her, his desk, and his empty hand in confusion. And then realization dawned. " _Frag, me!_ "

"I'd rather keep the relationship professional, Chief. If it's all the same to you."

"Very funny, Tess." His mind whirled. Who could he trust? Who could he be certain hadn't been compromised? "Are your friends Ms. Winters and Ms. Alexander still aboard?"

"Yes," she replied in evident confusion.

He was digging around in one of his desk drawers, looking for something he had thrown in there a while back. Finding it, he grabbed it out to inspect it. A bullet. Two of the chambers in Jankowski's revolver were empty. He had had this bullet made to see about filling them. The color hadn't quite matched, which had bothered him for some reason. So, he had thrown the shell into that drawer, with the intention to fix the problem at a later time, and maybe even make up a few dozen more for target practice. He'd never found the time.

One bullet. One bullet, without a gun. It would have to do.

Returning his attention to Tessa, he said, "Grab them both. I don't care what they're in the middle of, you bring them to the shuttle bay immediately." He took a deep breath, considering all the possibilities, all the ways things could go terribly wrong. "We have a mission. Now get moving! I have calls to make."  
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"Is he actually _sleeping_?"

Tessa glanced at her friend Talia, then over at the softly snoring Garibaldi. "The Chief is a strong believer that a soldier should get rest when and where he can."

"With no regard for anyone else's rest, apparently."

"I'm sorry I dragged you out of bed, Talia, but he said it was an urgent mission."

"Then maybe you could fill us in on exactly what is so important," Lyta cut in.

"Sorry, he never got around to actually telling me. All I know is that he was calling Commander Gideon before I was out of earshot on my way to get you. He had the rest of whatever arrangements he was making completed by the time we met up with him.

"Well, that just great."

"So, who's flying this thing?" Talia asked.

Tessa glanced up at the closed door to the cockpit. "Some Marine Lieutenant. I didn't catch his name."

"Perfect," Talia replied, releasing the harness securing her into her seat. "I'll be right back."

"Talia," Tessa hissed, "just because we're on a mission doesn't give you the right to read his mind."

"Who needs to? So far as I can tell, male Marines only have one thing on their minds anyway. I only need to do one thing to get what we want. Flirt. Back in a bit."

She did indeed return in less than five minutes, looking rather dissatisfied. "He wouldn't talk?" Tessa guessed.

Talia gave her an insulted look. "Please. He spilled everything he knew almost immediately. Unfortunately, that wasn't much. He was given a roundabout path to some asteroid, and specific coordinates to set down on. He was told to not deviate from the provided flight path, authorized for maximum thrust, and required to use full N-Com."

"EMCON," Lyta corrected. "Emissions control. It means we're trying to be sneaky."

"So what now?" Talia asked.

"Well," Tessa replied, "maybe we ought to follow the Chief's example and try to get some rest."

Unfortunately, not one of them was able to get much rest during the next three hours. Concerns about the mission worked overtime on all of their nerves. None of them were particularly pleased when the pilot gave them a thirty minute warning, and Garibaldi awoke looking well rested and chipper.

"Do we finally get an explanation?" Talia asked.

"Nope, now you get into vacuum suits. Ms. Winters, Ms. Alexander, I realize you aren't well trained in vacuum operations. Deputy Holloran and I will ensure your seals are good. Time to get dressed."

The task took nearly the entire thirty minutes, particularly in assisting the pair of telepaths. It also meant exposing quite a bit more skin to Garibaldi than any of them were particularly comfortable with, Lyta possibly excepted. Of course, Garibaldi also had to strip down, but that didn't make Tessa feel better _at all._ When the act was finally done, Garibaldi reached out and snagged an emergency EVA reaction harness. He began to shrug into it.

"Should I put on one of those?" Tessa asked.

"Do you know how to use one?"

"Not really."

"Then it will do more harm than good. Leave it to me."

"Chief," she began tentatively. "Is there a reason you are bringing two people who have next to zero vacuum experience, and one who doesn't have the required experience with apparently important safety gear, on what you seem to feel is an urgent mission, apparently in vacuum?"

"Well, I made a list of the available people I was reasonably confident I could trust for this mission."

"And…." she prompted.

"And then I brought them all. By the way, Tessa, before we go out that airlock I'm going to need you to render the pilot unconscious. Here, I brought a pipe. Don't bend it, and try not to kill him."

Tessa glanced at the pipe and rolled her eyes. She unfastened and removed her right glove. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out then donned a pair of brass knuckles. Just then, a shudder went through the ship. A moment later, the pilot popped the hatch and called out that they had landed. "One minute, LT. I've got a question for you." She turned and followed him back into the cockpit.

When Tessa arrived in the cockpit, she found the Marine busy checking the displays. He wasn't paying attention to her at all, but was cognizant enough of her presence to ask what he could help her with. In response, Tessa drove the brass knuckles into the base of his jaw. Out like a light. She put away the knuckles and reattached her glove before returning Garibaldi and the telepaths.

"He didn't give you any trouble?" Garibaldi asked.

Tessa gave him a pointed look. "So now what?"

In response, he cycled open the inner airlock doors. "Get in."

As they glided into the airlock, she felt the need to ask, "Aren't you forgetting something, Chief?" When he didn't respond she continued. "Weapons? Shouldn't we arm ourselves?"

"They're running energy sensors where we're heading. A PPG or even a Link would set off alarms. But don't worry. I've got a pipe." He brandished said pipe in the air, as if to impress her.

Tessa stared at him as Lyta and Talia shuffled awkwardly. "That doesn't even look terribly heavy," she said, sighing under her breath. Reaching into another pocket, she pulled out a large knife and strapped it to her forearm.

"I don't suppose you have one of those for me?" Lyta asked.

"Sorry. You can have the knuckles if you want."

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

While they were talking, Garibaldi had grabbed a spacers line and had linked them all together, with himself at one end and Tessa at the other, allowing for a several meters separation between them. As he was linking her up, he detached something from her suit, and suit readings and internal diagnostics all went dead. As did the whir of her internal air recycling.

"Chief," she asked cautiously, "did you just pull my suit battery?"

"Energy sensors, remember?" Just before the inner airlock door finished cycling closed, he tossed four batteries through, back into the ship. "Don't worry. We'll be able to breath off of the reserve oxygen sump for a good while. There's some built in CO2 management as well. Not sure how much. It'll have to do though."

"Chief….this plan doesn't seem to be terribly well thought out."

"Too late to back out now. I've programmed the airlock not to open for at least two hours. We'll be long dead before then. That's why I had you knock the pilot out."

Tessa's heartbeat kicked up, her fists and jaw clenched, and a reddish haze seemed to settle in over her vision. Later, she would muse upon the fact that she had always assumed the phrase 'seeing red' was a metaphor. Apparently not. For now, though, she could barely contain her rage. "You _asshole_! Did you _really_ need to pull a Cortés on us?"

"Cortés?" Talia asked in confusion. "The footballer?"

Garibaldi chuckled. "It's nice to see that Martian education didn't skimp on history. And unfortunate to see that PsiCorp education did. Hernán Cortés was a Spanish Conquistador in the sixteenth century, Ms. Winters."

"Yes," Tessa hissed. "A murderous jackass who almost single handedly destroyed a powerful empire through lies, trickery, and vicious brutality. When he landed in the new world, he had his ships burned, to ensure his men could not retreat. They had to either fight or die. Yes, Chief. Martian education was _very_ well versed in the problems of colonialism."

"You might not like what I've done, Deputy Holloran. But I believed it to be necessary. That's how important I think this mission is. And since this is not a democracy, my opinion is the only one that matters. Now, an important point. You may have noticed the distinct lack of gravity. This asteroid is tiny. Local gravity is less than a percent of a G. None of your are trained for this or will know how to travel in these conditions. Let me do all of the work. That's what the line is for. I will pull you along. Use your hands and feet to keep from bouncing off of the surface, but otherwise try to move as little as possible. You'll mostly be floating along behind me like balloons. And whatever you do, don't kick off hard. We need to try to stay low. Understand?"

"Not in the least," Lyta said meekly.

"Great. Now seal your helmets and let's get going."

Once they were sealed up, Garibaldi hit a control and the outer airlock doors began to open. The next half an hour was a small slice of hell. The asteroid curved quite visibly, but it was still a good distance to their target. Tessa could barely tell that there was any gravity at all, and had no idea how Garibaldi managed to stick to the surface. She felt not only useless, but helpless as well. It was not a feeling she was used to, and determined that she would be prepared if she ever again found herself in similar circumstances.

She really wanted to ask how much longer it would be. She wasn't sure how claustrophobia felt, but she was starting to get a pretty good idea. She also had a _horrible_ itch on the side of her nose. Unfortunately, without power, there was simply no way she could communicate with the Chief in that airless void.

Finally, they passed a small outcrop. And before her, about forty five degrees off of the local vertical, Tessa saw what must surely be their target. A spacecraft, just floating in space several kilometers away.

Garibaldi gathered them into a circle, then leaned forward, pressing his face plate to hers. He gestured for Talia and Lyta to bring themselves into contact as well. "There she is," Garibaldi stated unnecessarily. Tessa realized that the vibrations from his voice were being carried through to her suit by their direct contact. He was clearly shouting, and his voice came through as a quiet and rather distorted buzz, but he was at least understandable. "And it looks like we're right on time."

He pulled back so they could each get a good view. In the distance, a shuttle could be seen approaching the ship. As they watched, the shuttle docked with the waiting freighter. A moment later, it disconnected and flew away. Garibaldi pulled them back into their huddle to speak again. "Commodore Sheridan and Captain Sinclair were on board that shuttle. That's why our own shuttle was of the military assault variety, and authorized for maximum thrust...so we could beat them here. They came to negotiate with Captains Lochley and Levitt. We're going to crash the party. And, if Lochley was true to her word, right about now they should be shutting down the cameras. Time to go."

"Time to go?" Tessa asked. "Go where?" Then something the Chief had just said finally registered. "Crash the party? You plan on trying to board that ship, unpowered? Are you insane?"

"Chief," Lyta shouted. "My air's getting stale. How much oxygen do we have left?"

"Probably about ten or fifteen minutes."

"How long will it take us to get there?"

"Probably about ten or fifteen minutes."

"You're insane," Tessa repeated. "We don't even have any way of getting there."

"Don't throw up," he said. He sounded amused, damn him.

"What do you mean, 'don't throw up'?" Suddenly, she felt the Chief grab onto her shoulder. She felt a tug where the spacer's line connected to her waist. The maniac heaved, and literally threw her into the sky. Tessa found herself tumbling through vacuum. As she spun head over heels, she caught brief glimpses of Garibaldi, still on the ground, similarly hurling Lyta and Talia into space. He then jumped after them. No wonder he had left so much line between them.

To the end of her days, Tessa would swear that she had _not_ screamed like a little girl when Garibaldi had shotputted her at the freighter. After all, with no power to the recording or communications equipment in her suit, there was no way anyone could prove she was lying.  
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"You'd think they'd at least have come out to meet us," Sheridan grumped. The two of them had just been standing around for the last several minutes.

"Well," Sinclair offered, "perhaps we had better have a look around. We know the meeting room they had set up. If nothing else, we can just make our way there."

John nodded, and they set off to find their hosts. The empty ship echoed each time they kicked off from a surface, or used their hands to arrest their movements. The lights were on, but it seemed that nobody was home. The ship had clearly been in use for a good long time, with grime discoloring most surfaces, despite obvious and energetic efforts to beat it back. The whole place would have made a great set for a horror vid. The cameras, now off, present in every room only added to the effect.

Rather than making them nervous or anxious, the atmosphere instead increased the irritation of both men. "I guess they must be waiting in the conference room," John offered. "Not very considerate of them."

"It took another minute or so for them to finally make their way to the ad hoc meeting chamber. And there they finally saw their hosts.  
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The atmospheric indicator light clicked from red to green within the secondary cargo airlock, and the four figures lying on the floor began to grab feebly at their helmets, trying to unseal them. Tessa was the first to get hers open, and gasped as a wave of stale but breathable air rushed into her helmet. She took a few moments just to glory in her ability to breathe, just to inhale a proper lungful of air. Then she noticed that none of the other three had yet managed to unseal their helmets, and their movements were becoming more and more sporadic.

Rushing to Lyta's side, she assisted the woman in breaking her helmet seal. She heard a loud gasp from within, and then turned to assist Talia. She saved the Chief for last. He was actually probably the most in need of oxygen, being the largest and having done far and away the most work, but she wasn't quite ready yet to forgive him for his transgression. Maybe a little light brain damage would prevent him from ever again coming up with such an asinine plan.

Breaking his helmet seal, she untwisted it and ripped it off of his head, tossing it across the compartment. Gasping, his limbs began twitching again. Grabbing ahold of the helmet attachment collar on his suit, she pulled him up angrily in a half seated, half dangling position. Pushing her face into his, she snarled furiously, "You can keep this fragging job! I quit, asshole!"

He was wheezing hard, but the rhythm changed slightly. It almost sounded like...like the son of a bitch was _laughing_. "Quit later," he managed to croak. "Right now we've got a mission." In frustration, she dropped him, and had the satisfaction of watching his head bounce off of the floor. He moaned, and then managed to pull a hand up to rub at his bruised skull.

"You can stuff your mission. You almost threw away my life and the lives of my friends."

He was still wheezing, but had started to get his voice back. "It was important. If we fail...I put in place some contingency plans, but if we fail, I think the three of you are dead anyway. And me. And every other human in the fleet. I did what was necessary."

Tessa stared at him for a long moment. Then she stood up and began stripping off the extraneous parts of her suit; helmet, gloves, oxygen tank...anything and everything she could do to shed weight and make her movements quieter. After a moment, Talia and Lyta began to do the same. "Let's say I...we...believe you. That we trust you. It's time for you to do the same. Tell us exactly what's going on."

"We don't have time…"

"Then be succinct."

And so he did.  
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Sandra and Elizabeth had laid out a pretty decent spread for their negotiations. Several types of food and refreshments were set out across the tabletop...all strapped down and in spacers' containers, of course. The two mutineers sat on the opposite side of the table staring at them as they approached.

John stepped into the room in irritation. "We've been wandering around this ship for quite some time now. The least you could have done was met us at the airlock." When the ladies elected not to respond, he continued. "Or, you could have at least told us where you would be. That's just...common courtesy." Still they chose not to move or respond. Angrily, he spat out, "Well, what do you have to say? You asked us to this meeting. You're the ones with the 'nonnegotiable' demands. You wanted to get your way, to have your say. We're here. So speak your piece!"

Silence.

"John," Sinclair said uneasily. "Something's not right here."

John looked closely as the two women. The mutineers continued to sit silently, breathing and blinking occasionally, but otherwise not moving a muscle. They sat as though completely oblivious to their company. "It's like they're asleep," he said slowly. "Like they don't know we're even here."

"Oh, I assure you," came a familiar voice from the side of the room, "they are fully awake and aware of your presence. We've just taken away their ability to do anything about it...temporarily, of course."

Shocked at the new presence, Sheridan and Sinclair spun to face the unexpected voice. There, backed against the side of the room was a rather menacing quartet. As far as John knew, Bester was supposed to still be on the Mother. He supposed, after all of Garibaldi's concerns, that he shouldn't have been surprised to find the man standing alongside Susan Ivanova...or whoever she was now. He was also surprised to see the man wearing a rather familiar looking pearl handled revolver on his hip.

"The one with the shotgun is Ensign Gordon," Jeff advised him. Unnecessarily, but John didn't stop him. "He went through my final fighter pilot class. Former Psi Cop. Hell of a pilot." Raising his voice, he called out, "I'm surprised you would throw in your lot with a bunch of mutineers, Byron. You always struck me as the loyal type."

"And my loyalty remains firm...where it has always been, with my fellow telepaths," the young man respond, firmly but without animus.

Sinclair continued his commentary. "I don't recognize the older gentleman."

"You should have taken a more active interest in politics, Captain," John responded to him. "That man is none other than Assistant Director Drake of the Psi Corp. Director," he said more loudly, nodding to the man, "you most certainly are not supposed to be here. You didn't feel the need to honor the deal which allowed for so many telepaths to come along with this fleet?"

"The one which tried to kill the Psi-Corp? Which would enslave my fellow telepaths? No, I did not. The Corp is Mother, the Corp is Father. My telepaths need their family structure to remain intact. Your plans for my telepaths have failed. It is time for our plans to take primacy."

"How the hell are you even on this ship," Sinclair asked curiously. "Especially you, Bester. You were in the Command Staff meetings. And the cameras…"

Bester's response came with his trademark smirk. "You mean the meeting which stretched for a solid day, with people coming and going at will? I merely excused myself for pressing business and then didn't return. Did you even notice I was gone? Since I knew in advance exactly where this meeting would occur, it was child's play for me to gather my compatriots and quietly make our way here. The four of us arrived before either side even began installing the cameras. It was child's play to convince the various mundane technicians and security personnel that they had never seen us, and to ensure they left blind spots not covered by the cameras. The energy sensors couldn't be defeated so easily, of course. But, we had plans in place to cover that little challenge. After the security forces left, all we had to do was sit and wait for everyone to arrive. And now that the cameras have all been shut down so that our "negotiations" can be private, we have all the time in the world to...resolve our differences."

"By which you mean you plan to brainwash us," Sinclair snapped. "So were Levitt and Lochley in on your plans from the beginning, or did you betray them as well?"

Bester drifted forward, glancing between Sinclair and the still seated female Captains. "Brainwash? What an...ugly...word. And such a pale reflection of the elegance of what we achieved." Now standing next to Levitt, he looked directly at her, seemingly leveling his attention fully upon her. "I can feel them, you know? The real them. Beating at the insides of their skulls. Screaming to get out. A long time I've been debating...what to do when this day came. Let them know what happened to them, or do I leave them like this. Trapped in a prison of meat and flesh and bone...forever." Giving them a small nod, he glanced again at Sinclair and Sheridan, before returning his attention to the seated Captains and continuing. "I've decided to be magnanimous, ladies. Not because you'll appreciate it, but because you helped to bring us here, with the Psi Corp poised to take control of this fleet, and the whole human race. Not that the mundanes matter besides our telepaths. And I doubt very much that you'll appreciate that either."

Turning, he strolled behind them, running the fingertips of his right hand across the backs of their chairs. Speaking softly, he said, "Go back, ladies. Go back, and remember. Lefcourt had killed himself, and Sheridan was poised to assume command of the fleet. Once that happened, a firebrand with more experience fighting Minbari than protecting civilians would be given the responsibility of ensuring the survival of this fleet...of humanity itself. The potential for disaster was terrifying. That gave me my opening. You needed allies. Sinclair was too much of a boy scout, Garibaldi too damaged by the war. Who knew if anyone could trust a wet behind the ears cadet? That left only me. And so, we began to talk. And I began to manipulate you.

"I had neither the facilities, nor the time, nor the access to do a complete neural work up. To find the soft points where I could go in without disturbing the neural landscape. I couldn't leave any fingerprints, in case you had to pass a telepathic scan. I _certainly_ couldn't do a full reprogram. So I worked with what I had. With what you gave me. Your fear of what Sheridan would do. It was enough. Anything more was unnecessary. You both had an innate distrust of Sheridan. And you were both very stubborn and _very_ good at taking control; at running things and establishing structures...be they alliances or command teams. I needed those parts of you. So I couldn't risk tampering with them. I didn't have to reprogram you, just accentuate your natural instincts. More commanding, more stubborn...more suspicious of John Sheridan.

"It started subtly at first. Our early meetings were quite short. We were _all_ very busy. But each time we met was one more opportunity to enhance your fears, your need to form a counter weight to Sheridan. And those fears and needs drove you to meet with me more often, and for longer, giving me even more access to make slight...adjustments. Then all I had to do was nudge you in the right direction from time to time, and let nature run its course. So we waited, and hoped for the best. It worked even better than I could have imagined. From time to time, I updated your conditioning...continued to point you where we needed you to go. Until, in the end, the old Elizabeth Lochley and Sandra Levitt were gone. And the new ones...worked only for us. You would do anything to accomplish what we wanted you to accomplish. Including bring down Sheridan. _Especially_ bring down Sheridan." He chuckled and began moving back towards his compatriots. "And now...now we have everything."

"So you have been mind controlling them from the beginning," Sinclair called out, regaining Bester's attention.

"Mind control? No. Weren't you paying attention? Their thoughts, their emotions, their instincts...were all their own. I just drew certain thoughts and impressions to the fore. Lowered certain inhibitions. Focused them on certain concerns. It was really quite elegant." He paused, turning and focusing on them fully. "But, I suppose now we should focus on your part of the story, Jeff. On what happens to you and the Commodore next. In fact…" He paused, a surprised look coming over his face.

"What is it?" Susan, or the thing wearing Susan, asked.

Bester ignored her. Raising his voice, he called aloud, "Come out, Mr. Garibaldi. I'm impressed...astonished really...that you managed to make it aboard. But, I am aware of your presence now. You didn't really think you could hide from me, did you?"

The Colonel drifted out from one of the side passages, a length of pipe in his right hand leaned jauntily over that same shoulder. "Bester," he nodded. "Always a thrill." Looking over at his commanding officer, staring at him incredulously, he offered, "Commodore. Captain. Told ya it was a trap." Glancing over at the trio of telepaths still standing against the sidewall, his gaze focused on Byron. "A shotgun? How the hell did you get a shotgun past all the power sensors rigged up on this tub? Any powered weapon or device should have set off alarms left and right. I _did_ have the perfect weapon for this place, but it mysteriously vanished from my desk," he said sourly, glancing at the offending revolver hung from Bester's hip. "Instead, I had to make do with this damned pipe." He waved the indicated pipe cheerfully at them.

"Yes, how perfectly barbaric of you, Mr. Garibaldi." Bester commented dryly.

Byron, however, chose to answer his question. "I activated and primed it, ready to fire. Then I pulled out the power cell and capacitors. Then I rigged a small chemical detonator to the trigger. Just enough to set off the propellant and fire the explosive chemicals wherever I choose to aim them. It's just one shot, Colonel. But one shot that would blow you to shreds. Or take out both the Commodore and Captain over there at once. So don't try anything stupid."

"Stupid? Me?"

"Very witty, Mr. Garibaldi," Bester cut in, "But it's time we…" His head whipped around, his eyes, betraying his shock, locking on Captain Lochley. Something was happening in her mind. "Who's out there?" He snapped. "Who did you bring with you?" Concerned; Byron, Susan, and Drake began to spread out, looking for threats.

"Just one shot?" Garibaldi asked Byron casually. Then, swinging his arm downward, he drove the base of the pipe into the wall behind him. The jury rigged firing pin he had affixed there was driven into the primer of the .45 caliber bullet fit snugly into the end of the pipe. It wasn't a perfect fit, and the barrel certainly wasn't rifled. It definitely wasn't the way anyone should try to aim a projectile weapon. But his luck was running high, and the fit was close enough to deliver sufficient power and accuracy to propel the bullet out of the pipe, across the room, and right into Byron's left hip. The impact sent him spinning backwards into the wall, dropping the shotgun with a cry of pain. His wound sent globules of blood spinning wildly through the air.

Without missing a beat, Garibaldi had leapt, sending himself flying at Byron, who began fumbling around, trying to reclaim the shotgun. Ivanova moved to interpose herself, prepared to grapple with Garibaldi, so that Byron could bring the shotgun to bear once more. Slamming open an air vent recessed into the wall, Tessa leaped out, slamming into Susan's back and carrying her out of Garibaldi's path. Michael, now unobstructed, gave the pipe his best baseball bat swing, connecting squarely with the underside of Byron's jaw. He had applied enough force to put a fifteen degree bend into the pipe. It did far worse to the jaw, which shattered with a sickening crunch. Fortunately for the Psi Cop turned fighter pilot, it also drove him instantly into unconsciousness. Several broken and bloody bits of tooth and a small, bitten off portion of tongue escaped from his slack mouth to join the gobbets of blood still spinning through the air.

Sinclair and Sheridan had wasted not a second, both darting in to lend a hand in the ensuing scuffle. Dropping the pipe, Garibaldi grabbed for the shotgun. Susan, still struggling with Tessa, who had climbed onto her back and was attempting to choke her out, managed to tag it with a kick, sending it spinning towards Drake. He didn't seem to notice at all, instead concentrating on Tessa, who screamed and grabbed for her head, lurching off of Susan and entangling with the just arriving Sinclair. Sheridan sailed past them both, coming at Susan from behind. Grabbing her by collar and hip, he swung her violently around and into the nearest bulkhead. The top of her skull connected with a hollow thud, and the body went immediately limp.

At the same time, the mental blocks holding Lochley in place were torn away. Snapping back to awareness, once again in control of her faculties, she lunged out of her seat and towards the nearest target...Alfred Bester. She never made it. The roar of a .45 round being fired from a weapon actually designed to fit it reverberated around the room. It obscured the sound of said bullet punching through Elizabeth's shoulder, and the grunt of pain that elicited. The ensuing silence was then filled only with the ratcheting clicks of the revolver being recocked, and the muffled impact of Lochley's tumbling body hitting the floor.

As all eyes turned towards him, Bester levelled the gun directly at Sheridan. "Ms. Winters. Ms. Alexander. Step out where I can see you please. If you do not, my next shot will be placed right between the Commodore's eyes. I assure you, my marksmanship is more than adequate for the task."

Slowly, Lyta and Talia stepped out of the same air vent from which Tessa had emerged, their hands raised. "That was quite an impressive trick you managed," Bester congratulated them. "Breaking my controls over Captain Lochley. I wouldn't have thought you capable. With a bit of training, you might each make acceptable Psi Cops. A valiant effort, all of you," he now said to the entire room. "But you've played your final hand, and you've failed. There are three bullets left in this gun. Just enough to kill all of my key opponents in this room. No matter what you do, you've failed."

As he was speaking, Director Drake scooped up the shotgun and drifted back to stand next to Bester. "That's enough for the pleasantries, Al. We've got a lot of work to do if we are going to get Sinclair reprogrammed."

"Sinclair?" Sheridan asked sharply.

Drake favored him with a smile. "Yes, Sinclair. If you came back from this negotiation with your power still intact, allowing Lochley and Levitt to resume their command, and began issuing uncharacteristic demands, people might become suspicious. We can't have that. But, if you "retire" as part of the terms of reuniting the fleet, turning command over to Sinclair...well, then, no one will really know _what_ to expect. A new commander is the perfect way to mask the changes we will be making. And when you turn up later with a self inflicted gunshot wound….will anyone really be surprised that the shame drove you to pull a Lefcourt? Don't worry Commodore. We'll make it painless."

"Just one problem," Michael commented.

"And what exactly would that be, Mr. Garibaldi?

"You said it would take a lot of work? You just don't have the time. Our scouts are in...all of them. Down every single hyperspace route we looked...we found Minbari. They are closing in on us from every direction. We can't even go back the way we came. Deneb has fallen, and the Minbari are almost certainly bullying their way through the Koulani and Ch'Lonans as we speak. There's only one path open to us….and _that's_ supposed to be certain death. You've got a few hours at best...maybe only minutes."

"That's ridiculous," Bester spat. "You're lying.

"You're supposed to be some sort of grand telepath, aren't you? Pull it out of my mind."

Bester concentrated for a moment. "My God, he's telling the truth. This changes everything."

"It changes _nothing_ ," Drake hissed. "We still can't allow the mundanes to dictate our fate. There's no turning back now."

"We can't fight the Minbari without these people at their best."

"Then we don't fight, Al. We run. We take the telepath heavy ships, and any others whose loyalty we have secured, and we run. But we've got to do it now. Kill them, and let's go."

Bester tightened his grip on the revolver, taking careful aim at Sheridan. But he hesitated, licking his lips. "We can't out run the Minbari. They're too fast. Too good at searching."

"There's an old saying. We don't have to outrun the Minbari. We just have to outrun the mundanes. Now kill them."

"But after they deal with the mundanes, they'll come after us."

"Dammit, Al, quit stalling! Why would the Minbari come after us? They can't possibly know the exact size of our fleet, and they would never believe we had split up. They'll slaughter the mundanes, and that will be the end of it. We'll finally be free from pursuit. Free to begin planning our future. You _know_ what you need to do." Seeing Bester still hesitating, he swung up the shotgun and aimed it at Sheridan.

"I'm sorry, Director. My moment of weakness has passed. You are entirely correct. I do know what I need to do." Bester took a firmer grip on the revolver, again carefully aiming it at Sheridan. Taking a deep breath, he turned and fired directly into the side of Drake's head. A spray of blood, brains, and hair fountained into the air. Assistant Director Drake, nominal head of the Psi Corp, died instantly.

"Well, now that that's over," Bester said somberly, "what are we going to do about those Minbari?" He spun the revolver in his hand, offering it grip first to his former opponents.

Garibaldi surged across the room and tore the weapon from his hand, cocking it himself and levelling it at Bester. "Why shouldn't I just kill you where you stand, _Al_?"

"You mean aside from the fact that I just saved all of your lives? Well, how about the fact that we have bigger problems to worry about? The Minbari are coming, and you'll need my help to survive them."

"I'll take my chances," Garibaldi snarled, pressing the barrel into Bester's forehead.

"Stop!" Sheridan commanded. "He's right, we do need him." As Garibaldi stepped back from Bester, Sheridan continued. "What we need you to do, Mr. Bester, is to fix Ensign Ivanova over there. Return her to normal. _That's_ what we need you to do."

Bester pursed his lips. "I'm...not sure that's possible."

Garibaldi stepped forward, once again jamming the gun into Bester's head. "Well you better make it possible, because that's what we need from you. And if you can't, then we have no more reason to keep you around, do we?" He cocked the revolver once again.

"Wait! There... _might_ be a way. We knew that when the Control program took control of her body, it would completely eradicate her existing personality. I thought that personality might be valuable at some point in the future. Waste not, want not. So periodically we...backed it up."

"That's impossible," Lyta cut in. "There's no computer that could hold someone's entire mind and personality!"

"Of course not. Only a human mind can hold a human mind. Which is what we used."

"Excuse me?" she asked in confusion.

"We copied her personality on top of someone else's. Of course, people would notice if someone just 'became' Susan Ivanova, so we had to do it with someone who wouldn't expose us. Someone who _couldn't_ expose us. Someone who wasn't using their own personality."

"The victims of the serial killer," Garibaldi guessed. "Their brains were drilled to destroy their telepathy. Of the handful that survived, several were left comatose. And you just thought, 'well, they're not using their minds, so why shouldn't we?'" he snarled in disgust.

"Do you want the Ensign back or not?"

"So you can do it?" Sheridan asked before Garibaldi had a chance to respond.

"Yes...possibly. Keep in mind, this would be a copy of a copy, stored on a damaged brain, overwriting a mind that has already been overwritten once. It might suffer some...degradation. I can make no guarantees." Garibaldi started to snarl again, but Bester snapped, "It's the best you're going to get."

Sinclair stepped forward. "Fine. We'll do it. Now, it's time to get this fleet moving, before the Minbari get here."

"Not just yet," Sheridan said softly, laying his hand on Sinclair's shoulder. "We have one more detail which must be addressed." Jeff looked at him in confusion.

"He means me...us," Lochley said as she wobbled up from the floor, hand pressed over her still bleeding wound. "You've got to decide what to do about us. And Sandra should at least be present for this. Bester. _Let her go_."

Bester glanced at Sheridan, who grimaced and gave a slight nod. Nothing happened for a moment. Then, with a shattering scream, Levitt curled up over her knees and began to sob violently.

Sheridan looked at her expressionlessly, then turned his gaze back to his ex-wife. "Captains Elizabeth Lochley and Sandra Levitt. You stand accused of treason, mutiny and conspiracy to commit both. I have no interest in how you plead. You are hereby sentenced to death, sentence to be carried out immediately."

" _What_?" Sinclair asked in shock, spinning on him. " _Like hell!_ John you can't execute them!"

"Under martial law, it is well within my power."

"And it's just plain wrong! You heard Bester, they were under telepathic mind control!"

"Something they were trained to resist. And I did hear Bester. Did you? All the thoughts, ideas, emotions...that was all them. He just made it easier for them."

"By bringing what might otherwise have been passing thoughts to the fore! By lowering their inhibitions!" Jeff stated angrily.

"Alcohol can lower your inhibitions as well. Officers...certainly command officers...are supposed to be able to deal with that."

"Alcohol doesn't try to force you to take a certain set of actions! You can't do this! Court Martial them if you need to, but execution is beyond improper."

Sheridan clenched his jaw, losing his patience. "Even if wanted to let them off easily, I can't. I can't just pardon them and relieve them of command. Their very presence would be a focal point for those in the fleet who sided with them the first time around. A goad to further insurrection. And I can't reinstate them and pretend the whole thing was a trick or ploy. Because I simply can't trust them. Like it or not, they need to die."

"Wait," Lyta said meekly. Neither man was listening to her.

"Like hell!" Sinclair said angrily. "Wrong is wrong, Commodore. I can't support this."

"I don't need your support. Mr. Garibaldi, prepare to carry out the sentence." If Garibaldi hesitated at all, it was not discernible. He took aim at Lochley's head. Without flinching, she met his gaze. Levitt continued to weep, now having curled into a fetal ball.

"There's another way," Lyta tried again, just a little louder.

Sinclair stepped between Garibaldi and Lochley, causing Michael to raise the gun towards the ceiling. "I'm not going to allow you to do this. I'll stop you if I have to."

Sheridan grew more cold and aloof. "I just stopped one mutiny, Captain Sinclair. Don't think I will hesitate to put down another."

"Then you better be prepared to kill me too, Commodore, because…"

"I SAID STOP!" Lyta screamed at the top of her lungs. Once all eyes were on her, she resumed in a much softer voice. "There's...there's another way."

"And that would be?" Sheridan asked in annoyance.

"You could do to them what Drake and Bester were planning to do to you. I saw it in their heads. It's….it's evil. But it's better than execution."

"What exactly is it?" Sinclair asked more kindly.

Lyta hesitated, so Talia spoke up. "It's a type of intentional brain damage. Irreversible. It burns out a small part of the brain. A very specific part related to free will and decision making. It would take away their ability to say no or to disobey….not to just anyone, but to those who have recognized command authority over the...subject. And it's not just job related. It would reach into every aspect of their lives. In a very real way, you would be stripping them of free will...of a part of their humanity. Without caution, you could easily turn someone into a slave. It's prone to abuse. Any person with command can give it to any other person. You can imagine the kinds of things an unscrupulous person could make them do….what could become of them. But, aside from that, they would be alive and whole. Able to do their jobs. Able to command those beneath them, and interact normally with their peers.

"And you can just _do_ this?" Sinclair asked in horror.

Lyta replied. "If you're asking if we can manage to have this on our conscience….better than to see them executed for something telepaths did. If instead you are asking about the telepathic capacity to do this….no, it's not something which is easily done. Talia and I didn't even know it was possible until we telepathically 'overheard' their plans just now. They had three Psi Cops to work with, and they were still expecting it to take a good part of the day just to do you, Captain Sinclair. But Bester has been priming Lochley and Levitt for months now. They could both be triggered in a few moments. Isn't that right, Commander Bester?"

"Yes, that's correct," Bester offered quietly.

Sinclair appeared disgusted, but then turned to look uncertainly at Elizabeth.

She met his gaze, then sighed, and gave a small nod. She looked over at Sheridan. "Do what you need to do. It's what I would do, were our roles reversed."

Sheridan's stony countenance softened a bit, as he gazed at his ex-wife. But then he turned to face Bester. "Do it."

Sinclair's gave never left Lochley's face. One minute everything was fine. The next, she gasped, and something dimmed in the light behind her eyes. Some ineffable part of herself had fled. She sagged back onto her haunches, head bowed, and Sinclair stepped forward to bind her wounds.

"Now Captain Levitt," Sheridan commanded Bester.

Levitt sat up, her weeping pausing momentarily. "No. NO! You cannot do this. It's inhumane. It's monstrous! I do not agree! You can't do this, PLEASE! I do not give my consent. Do you hear me!? I do not give my consent!"

As she protested, Sinclair looked over at Sheridan. "John," he started tentatively, "maybe we should…"

Levitt screamed, drawing Jeff's gaze sharply back to her. Once again, something indescribable seemed to go out of her. Some critical part of her soul seemed to vanish. She became less than she was, the light in her eyes somehow weaker than before. Perhaps Jeff was just imagining things. She slumped back over her legs, resuming her weeping.

Garibaldi stepped forward and swung the revolver into the back of Bester's head. He collapsed, unconscious. Turning to Lyta, he asked, "Did you see what he did? Do you understand how he did it?" Lyta looked confused, but nodded.

"Colonel Garibaldi," Sheridan snapped. "Explain yourself."

"If there's anyone who can't be trusted, it's Bester. You didn't believe me before. Believe me now. If you've got some magic "can no longer betray me" surgery, you need to use it on him. I figure now that the ladies here have seen what he did, they can attempt it on him. If he was awake, he could probably fight them or fool them. Unconscious, they should be able to get the job done."

"We've never done anything like this before," Talia protested. "Both Captains Lochley and Levitt were prepared well beforehand. If we try to stumble through this on our own, who knows what kind of damage we could cause?"

"But could you do it?" Garibaldi pressed.

The both hesitated, then finally Lyta said, "Yes, probably. It's going to take quite a while."

Garibaldi looked over at Sheridan, who nodded and said, "Then proceed. Take all the time you need."

"What if this prevents Bester from restoring Ivanova?" Sinclair asked.

"Then we find another way. The decision is made." He raised his voice, looking over at Levitt and Lochley. "Ladies. The time for crying and bleeding is over. We've got work to do, this fleet needs to get moving. Stand up." Both captains jerked to their feet, with no ability to ignore or refuse him. "You are ordered to return to your former command positions. You are to advise anyone who asks that you were operating under cover as a means to draw out the Psi Corp conspirators and other disloyal elements. We're going to offer a general amnesty to anyone who surrenders and willingly returns to the fold. We come down hard on everyone else. Understood?"

"Yes, Commodore," they echoed in unison.

"This is going to be a damned mess, but we just don't have time to work it all out right now. The first thing we have to do is get off of this ship and back to the fleet. Garibaldi, can you clean things up here?"

"Deputy Holloran, can," he said, passing Tessa the revolver to add to the shotgun she had already acquired. "I've got my own folks to prep for departure."

"Then let's get moving people. The Minbari are coming."

So saying he turned and left the room. The group that followed him out was a far cry from the Council of Captains which had formed months before. Broken, strained, changed. But they still carried to hopes of mankind on their shoulders.  
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 **Torlig, Neutral Space - Minbari Fleet, Valen'Tha - May, 2249**

The Grey Council was in session. This was not a normal session. Shai'Alyt Branmer felt the difference the moment he stepped into the room. The profound solemnity and deep silence were neither profound nor deep on this occasion. Disturbed and angry whispers pierced the darkness. As he strode towards the center of the ring, a spotlight from directly above encompassed him, cutting the whispers short.

He stopped in the dead center of the ring, and offered his report. "Preliminary investigation of the system has been completed. We have conclusive evidence that the humans were here. However, as yet we cannot find them. It is possible that they are no longer here."

Another light appeared highlighting a member of the Grey. Branmer knew from his position and physical stature who it was before he bothered to lower his hood. Neither did the look on his face, once revealed, surprise Branmer at all. Coplann wore an angry sneer, and wore hostility like a cloak. "And so we see the result of your overly cautious 'plan,' Shai'Alyt. We had the human fleet within reach, and you _let them go._ All so you could implement this exhaustive, in depth search, looking under every rock, behind every speck of dust, in _every single system_ on this side of the beacon network. You told us the plan would leave no room for the humans to escape. We initiated the largest fleet deployment since the Shadow War, all to catch one fleet of humans. And now, here we are, in the final system, with fleets spread out across all of the surrounding systems. You promised us the humans would be here, Shai'Alyt. _Where are they?!"_

Branmer regarded the agitated Warrior calmly. He was disturbed and agitated himself, but not by Coplann's words or tone. Rather, it was the most likely answer to the question which disturbed him. "We have not finished searching this system, Satai Coplann. It is entirely possible that the humans are still here, hiding somewhere in the outer system. It is my intention to search this system just as thoroughly as we have all of the other. Unless this Council chooses to overrule me, that is. However, operating under the assumption that the humans are not here, I must note that we have not, in fact, searched every system. There is one more, directly accessible from here, which we have yet to approach."

Coplann's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment, and then realization dawned. He inhaled sharply with a hiss. "Z'ha'dum?" The dismay was evident on his face. "Would even the humans be that mad?" A laden pause, a he sorted through the possibilities. "Or perhaps it is not madness. Perhaps this was their destination all along. This war started with the humans attacking us as Dukhat had us enroute to that very system. He was concerned about a return of the Shadows. Concerns Delenn has repeated. Perhaps those concerns _are_ valid. Perhaps the humans acted specifically to prevent our expedition. Perhaps….perhaps they are Shadow Servants."

Another light appeared, surprising no one. Particularly after hearing her own name, Delenn would not allow herself to be left out of this conversation. Lowering her hood, she stated, "That is pure speculation. We have seen nothing from the humans which would indicate they are Shadow Servants."

"You mean, aside from the fact that they attacked us without provocation, Delenn? That they killed the very leader who was pushing us to investigate the system to which they now appear to flee?" Coplann smirked at her, drawing out her anger.

"If they wanted to prevent us from investigating Z'ha'dum, then why would they lead us to it now?"

"Perhaps they think they have eluded our chase. Perhaps they are just that desperate. Or perhaps they are just stupid. They are humans, after all."

"Or, _perhaps_ , this is all the will of the universe. There were many on this council who were resistant to Dukhat's initiative. We are the Universe, made manifest, trying to figure itself out. Perhaps if we had been more resolute beforehand, or if we had not focused on the destruction of the humans, but had instead carried through with the plan to investigate Z'ha'dum, then none of this would have been necessary. Perhaps the Universe itself intends for us to visit Z'ha'dum."

"Now who is engaging in pure speculation, Delenn?"

Branmer cleared his throat and interrupted their sparring. "The pertinent question is, should the humans indeed not be here, do we choose to follow them to Z'ha'dum, and risk encountering whatever might be there?"

"Yes," Delenn and Coplann said in unison, then looked at each other in surprise. Coplann was the first to return his gaze to the Shai'Alyt and speak. "We have come to far, put forth to much effort in chasing the humans, to let them get away now. We must ensure their destruction to end this war. If that means going to Z'ha'dum, then so be it."

Delenn spoke next. "It is time we finally fulfilled Dukhat's intentions. If the Shadows are indeed moving again, if the humans are aligned with them or not, these are things we must know. Perhaps we should have gone to Z'ha'dum long ago, but the past cannot be changed. We go now."

The motion went to a vote of the full Council. There was no dissent. Their path was decided.  
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 **Deep Hyperspace - Vorlon Dreadnought - May, 2249**

 _The humans go to Z'ha'dum._ Delivered by their most senior member, the message struck like a thunderbolt, bringing chaos into the council of the lords of order. Passed on a higher level than even the telepathy they had seeded in so many of the younger races, it was soaked in undertones of fear and consternation. The Council had been called to discuss the momentous events on going in the ancient conflict with the Shadows.

 _Disaster_ , another offered. If the humans entered that storied system, they were placing themselves directly into the jaws of the Shadows. They would almost certainly slip fully under their sway. The humans were critical to the Circle the Vorlons had instigated. If the Shadows gained control of the humans, they were liable to seize control. To change the past, present and future. To destroy the Vorlons, or make them little more than a client race. The concept was so horrifying it bore repeating. _Disaster._

 _Intervention?_ asked a third. Perhaps they could simply abduct the human fleet. Prevent them from going to Z'ha'dum in the first place.

 _Impossible._ The humans were already too close to the system, the nearest Vorlon forces too far away. The humans would get there first. Attempting to seize them from within the system would be even worse. It would kick off a conflict with the Shadows for which the Vorlons were not prepared. It would also ensure that the Shadows understood that these humans were special. Ensure that they would investigate. Ensure the very destruction of the Circle which the Vorlons feared.

 _The Minbari?_ yet another councilor asked. The Minbari were giving chase. It wasn't ideal, but perhaps they could stop the humans. That might give the Vorlons the chance to catch up and take the humans from them before they did something to ruin everything...like killing off the humans. It would mean either being more honest with the Minbari than they preferred...or destroying them violently. Either could lead to disaster, but better that than allowing their fate to fall into the hands of the Shadows.

 _Worse_. The Minbari were also too far behind to stop the humans. Instead, they would go barrelling into the Shadow system with a massive force of ships. Which would be nearly as bad as the Vorlons themselves showing up. The Minbari had been allies and clients of the Vorlons since well before the last Shadow war, a fact the Shadows couldn't possibly fail to remember. Them showing that level of interest in the humans was tantamount to the Vorlons themselves doing so. At least, that was likely how the Shadows would interpret it.

 _Stop them?_ For once, the interrogative was plain, with no buried levels of meaning.

 _Futility_. It was again their senior member communicating. Images of multiple large Minbari fleets were carried along with it. They approached Z'ha'dum from every directions. They were too powerful to stop easily. The Vorlon forces close enough to intercept them before their arrival were sufficient to stop one or two of them, but not all five. Nothing would be accomplished. Worse, that level of hurry might cause them to miss some witnesses. They were willing to kill Minbari if necessary, but driving them into the arms of the Shadows by allowing them to realize they had been betrayed would be nearly as bad as losing the humans.

 _Disaster_ , came the thought again.

 _Naranek_ , one of their most junior offered angrily. This was all Kosh's fault. If he hadn't swayed them with with the possibility of extending the Vorlon future, they would have done something about the humans much earlier. They would have acted to maintain stability, to maintain order, to maintain the Circle. Now it was too late. And it was all Kosh's fault. What good would additional future be, if those years were spent as slaves of the Shadows. Panic began to set it amongst the Council.

 _Subterfuge?_ one finally offered. _Disinterest?_ They could stop neither the humans nor the Minbari from going to Z'ha'dum. All they could do was wait. But, just perhaps, if they showed no interest, the Shadows might not realize how important the humans were. They just might leave the Vorlons a path to victory. It seemed a slim chance, but the only chance they had.

 _We must watch._ It was again their senior member, attempting to lead them. They would need to send a stealthy ship in close to Z'ha'dum, to observe what passed their.

 _Dangerous_. another responded. The Shadows might detect those ships, regardless of their precautions and stealthy nature. The enemy certainly had the capability. If they were detected, then it would eliminate whatever slim chance pretending disinterest might give them. It was incredibly risky.

 _We must know_. They had to watch. Subterfuge was to thin of a chance to depend upon it. If it failed, they would need to know what was transpiring. They would need to try to make alternative plans, and knowing exactly what was happening would be critical to that effort.

Chaos and fear still dominated the Council, but the simple plan and the will of their senior returned a modicum of order. They grasped onto it like drowning men would a life preserver. Their plan was finalized, their course of action was set. Things did not look favorable right now, but they would bend the universe to their will. The strode towards the future with open eyes. They were First Ones. They were Vorlon.  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Exodus Fleet, EAS Eratosthenes - May, 2249**

Commodore John Sheridan stood, staring out a window into the darkened depths of the system. The bulk of his Command Staff crowded the room behind him, reviewing the available data. He had assembled them aboard their Explorer class vessel, to enjoy the relative comfort of it's centrifugal system. Bester, Lochley, and Levitt were all present; now the best of good little soldiers. He still felt somewhat sick about what he had done, but it was necessary. An invisible but tangible space surrounded the three of them. The other either knew or suspected that they were traitors, though most of them were unaware of the details. So far their cover story was holding. That left people uncomfortable, but when the Commodore told you that everything was fine, you didn't argue. That problem, despite its complexity, felt incredibly simple compared to the disaster which now loomed before them.

The door opened, and Sinclair strode into the room, a grim look on his face. He had news, and Sheridan suspected he knew what it was. They were running out of time. He fought down panic. He would find a way out of this. He _had_ to find a way out of this. He turned back to the room, imposing a look of calm and control over his features. "Many of you have been working different problems. Let's review, so that everyone is fully up to speed. Captain Lochley?

Without standing or flinching, she responded, "We have Starfurys spread out on deep patrol throughout the system. So far, they've seen nothing to report in about."

He nodded, noting the dead tone in her voice, and suppressing another stab of guilt. It was probably just her dealing with the emotional trauma. Upon awakening, Bester had assured him that none of the three of them had suffered any mental damage other than that intended. He had even complimented Talia and Lyta on a job well done. The whole thing had been bizarre. He refocused on the task at hand. "Commander Gideon."

Matt stood up. "We have been broadcasting our first contact package, as well as a general hail requesting aid and asylum. No response so far. We have also been scanning with the best sensors of the Eratosthenes, as well as the scientific vessels from Interplanetary Expeditions. So far as we can tell, this system has been abandoned for thousands of year. I've brought a couple of civilian experts to provide some additional knowledge regarding what we've found so far. This is Maximilian Eilerson, and archeologist with IPX, and Samuel Drake, a hyperspace and ship design expert from Mars."

Sheridan nodded to each, then keyed in on the mention of hyperspace. "Mr. Drake, can you explain the anomaly to us?"

"No, Sir, I'm afraid that I can't."

"Something is preventing ships from entering or leaving hyperspace within this system, other than through the local jump gate. That's gotta mean something."

"Yes, Sir. And the effect extends almost as far out as the Kuiper Belt. But if it means something, I have no idea what it is. Commander Gideon brought me in because I'm just about as knowledgeable regarding hyperspace as any human, living or dead. And I can tell you, from the breadth of that knowledge, that I haven't got a damned clue. I can't even tell if the effect is natural or artificial, where it comes from, or what the possible mechanics behind it might be. I'm sorry, Commodore. Our species just hasn't accumulated enough knowledge about the hyperspace realm yet. I can at least tell you to stop looking, because if I don't know, then no one in this fleet does."

John nodded in disappointment. That strange effect had bolstered their hopes of finding a hyper advanced race which might protect them from the Minbari. He turned to the second man. "Mr. Eilerson. I presume you've been studying the planet?"

"Indeed. Violent dust storms seem to cover at least a quarter of the planet at any one time, but we can tell that it was habitable and inhabited at one time. We're not seeing any signs of current habitation though. The planet contains very little moisture, fatal levels of carbon monoxide, and persistent background radiation. Taken altogether, I'd say this is indicative of intense, planetary wide nuclear bombardment some time in the distant past."

"How distant?"

"Hard to tell from orbit. Maybe a thousand years?"

"What else have you found?"

"We've observed strange stone pillars, averaging just over a hundred meters in height, regularly placed across most of the surface. They are separated by about three point nine kilometers from their neighbors, and seem to be covered in some form of writing...which is extremely hard to read from space. I'd like to take a team down and investigate them, as well as some other locations which might be ruins."

"And how long would that take?"

"To get a preliminary answer? At least weeks. Probably months."

"We don't have that kind of time," Jeff broke in. All eyes shifted to him.

John nodded. "Captain Sinclair. You have something to report?"

"I just came from Ops. All of the deep scouts we sent out have reported in. There are five hyperspace routes leading away from this system. There are Minbari forces in the systems at the end of each of those routes. That includes Torlig. They seem to be preparing to head this way."

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

Sheridan wasn't surprised. "How large?"

"According to our scouts, the smallest of the fleets exceeds six hundred vessels." Gasps and murmurs swept across the room, but Sheridan spoke over them. "How long do we have?"

"It's hard to say, Sir. Probably twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight."

John couldn't stop himself from closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He took a moment to collect himself, and come to a decision. Opening his eyes, he resumed his command façade. "Captain Gideon. You are to take the Eratosthenes, the Cutters, and the entire civilian fleet and go through the jumpgate. You will head outwards in a direction that is _not_ along one of the beacon paths. Travel until you can just barely still detect the beacon, but reliably enough not to lose it. A bit like we did in Cascan. That ought to keep the Minbari from noticing you when they come into the system...at least for a while. From there you are to initiate hyperspace exploration, utilizing whatever tools and resources you deem necessary. You are looking for a new system, not currently on the beacon network. The Nova, Lexington, Midway, and Mother will remain in system to distract the Minbari and slow them down. We will attempt to draw them deeper into the system, so that they cannot rapidly leave due to the hyperspace anomaly. We will delay them until you have found that new system and initiated the escape of the fleet, or until we are destroyed. Should the opportunity present itself, any remaining military vessels within the system will exfiltrate via travel into the Kuiper Belt and out of the area covered by the hyperspace anomaly."

The room was silent. Everyone in the room knew that any ship remaining to engage the Minbari would never be leaving. Escape was a pipedream. Finally, Gideon cleared his throat and spoke. "How long do you think you can give me, Sir?"

"The Minbari will be here in twenty-four to forty-eight hours. We can maybe keep them occupied for another twenty-four...forty-eight if we are far luckier than we can reasonably expect."

"How the frak do you expect to hold that many ships for an hour, much less forty-eight?" Garibaldi asked incredulously.

"Any way we can, Colonel. We pull out every nuke. Drop every dirty trick. We lie, cheat, and steal and do whatever it takes to buy that time. We'll _find_ a way." He turned back to Gideon. "That gives you two days, Commander...four if we're incredibly luck, but I would plan for two….to find a refuge for this fleet."

Gideon cleared his throat again, and uncomfortably said, "You do realize, Commodore, that it usually take months to find a new system via hyperspace exploration? Sometimes it's years. As close to the Rim as we are, systems are likely to be fewer and farther between."

"Then cut corners," Sheridan said sharply. "The men and women of the military fleet are about to sacrifice themselves so that you can pull the civilians to safety. Don't let that sacrifice be in vain."

"Yes, Commodore. I'll find a way."

"Good man. If the Minbari begin closing on you before you've found a path out….drop your lock on the local beacon and just lead the fleet into hyperspace."

That order was simply too much. Gideon balked again. "Sir, that's suicide. The odds are better of being struck by lightning ten times in a row than of heading blindly into hyperspace and finding your way to safety."

"A civilian fleet, an Explorer and some cutters facing off against thousands of Minbari ships...that's suicide. Jumping blindly into hyperspace...that's just putting yourselves into the hands of the Almighty. Perhaps He'll smile on you. Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Gideon took a deep breath. "We'll find a way," he repeated.

Sheridan looked around at his officers...those certain to die, and those only incredibly likely to. "Alright people, I'm going to need the best out of all of you to make this work. The Minbari are on their way, and we have a lot of work to do, preparations to make. Now, move! The clock is ticking.


	18. Chapter 17 - Z'ha'dum

Chapter 17 - Z'ha'dum

 **Z'ha'dum - Minbari Fleet, Valen'Tha - May, 2249**

The Valen'Tha was not the last Minbari ship to slide through the jumpgate and into the system, but it was far from the first. Over a thousand ships had come down the Torlig beacon, easily the largest of the Minbari fleets closing on the system. Also, the first to arrive. Shai'Alyt Branmer had insisted that the large majority of those vessels remain in hyperspace, keeping them out of any potential Shadow trap, but also as a reserve force should it be necessary to rescue the force which was entering the system. The Shai'Alyt had mandated no more than three hundred vessels enter the system, and had tried to insist the Grey Council remain in hyperspace with the main fleet. On this final point, however, he had been overruled. Both Delenn and Coplann had pushed for and received a unanimous decision to bring the Valen'Tha into the system along with the scout force.

Delenn now stood next to Satai Coplann at a handy viewport. The other members of the Grey had remained in their rooms, or found more solitary viewports of their own from which to observe the proceedings. Delenn had used a wall interface to tap into several of the frequencies along which various departments of the crew communicated, as well as the intership communications by which Shai'Alyt Branmer directed the scouting fleet. The three hundred vessels of that fleet moved like well maintained machinery, smooth and precise. Delenn found the whole affair to be rather illuminating. "They seem quite concerned about the topography of the system," she commented to Coplann.

"Whatever for?"

"Potential ambush, I would presume. The humans seem quite skilled at that sort of thing. But also because the system make up does not match our records. The second and fourth of the system's gas giants, according to our charts from the last Shadow War, are missing. In their place are massive asteroid belts."

"Which solves your little mystery, Delenn," he said confidently. "Our people did not take place in the final assault upon this system at the end of the Shadow war. The races that did were nearly wiped out for their efforts, trying to compete with First Ones. It was the Vorlons who made that assault possible. No doubt they used some force to shatter those planets, leaving the rubble fields you just referred to as asteroid belts."

Delenn accessed some additional data via the interface. "I suppose it's possible. The mass and composition they are reading in these new belts are roughly the same as the gas giants which the ancient charts described." She sighed. "I suppose the Shai'Alyt is also concerned about the hyperspace anomaly."

"Again, Delenn, what for? Blocking off hyperspace access to everything but the local gate is entirely within the capabilities of _any_ First Ones. Since this is the Shadows' own system, it's not surprising to have it here. It won't do anything more than slow us down, since we will have to spread out through the system in real space, rather than jumping in wherever we choose."

"It is both surprising and concerning, because our records from the final battle of this system do not indicate any such anomaly. Which means it must have gone up since then. And if the Shadows remain vanquished, if they aren't here and active...then where did the field come from?"

Coplann turned to stare out the viewport again for a long moment. Finally, he murmured, "Then perhaps the Shadows are back. Perhaps that's why we were led here. Perhaps the humans _are_ Shadow Servants."

It was now Delenn's turn to be silent, in deep contemplation. Eventually, a chime from the interface drew her attention. "The fleet is advancing. We are spreading out, and heading for the outermost of the asteroid belts." She paused for a moment, then responded to his previous assertion. "Perhaps they are. We shall see.  
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 **Hyperspace, near Z'ha'dum - EAS Eratosthenes - May, 2249**

"Captain," Lieutenant Commander Janice Kathway called out to Gideon. "A moment of your time." Gideon looked up from the pile of reports and data he had been reviewing from his command chair, and absentmindedly waved her over. She crossed the bridge to stand within arms reach, just to his left, and pitched her voice to carry only to him. "Sir, we've just received the prearranged signal from Commodore Sheridan. The Minbari have arrived."

Matt inhaled deeply, then exhaled sharply in resignation. "I could have hoped for more time, but we already got more than I was expecting."

"Any luck with the search?" she asked, clearly with little hope.

"None at all. This is taking too damned long. Sheridan's not going to be able to buy us much time against so many Minbari. We might only have hours left, and I would rather not be forced to just cast off into hyperspace."

Janice grimaced. "Captain, you know as well as I do that casting off beaconless into hyperspace is a fool's errand. It's suicide, pure and simple."

"Then we need a way to avoid that fate. One that doesn't end in a civilian fleet taking on the Minbari war machine. We need to speed things up."

"We've already cut every corner on the process we could think of. Cut back safety precautions well past bare minimums. We're using all of the remote sensors and drones to push forward as rapidly as possible, charting out grav inclines, currents and other obstacles. We're even utilizing our temporary beacons as makeshift additional drones. We're setting records with how fast we are progressing, but there are still limits to what we can accomplish. We've transitioned as many personnel and stations to drone operation as feasible, but between trying to operate so many remote platforms simultaneously, and pushing forward as recklessly as we are, we've already lost nearly ten percent of our exploration gear to hyperspace hazzards. We move any faster, and we'll run ourselves out of gear long before we find anything. And, of course, we have to be far more cautious with our hyperspace beacons."

"Because, as we move forward, we'll have to transition them from hounds to bread crumbs, so we don't get lost."

"Exactly. Travelling back and forth between possible routes as potential options are eliminated isn't helping either. We are running engines at maximum, but a six kilometer vessel doesn't exactly sprint like a Starfury."

"And we can't just investigate the best possibilities simultaneously because of transmission limitations from the Eratosthenes to the remotes," Gideon finished for her, clenching his fists in frustration. "The Eratosthenes can only be in one place at a time, which means while we're exploring one potential route, the others are just sitting there, unless we are force to come back to them. And we can't play around with increasing transmission power or switching to tachyon coms, both because it would be too time consuming, and because there's a great big Minbari fleet sitting out there, not terribly far away, just waiting to pounce if they happen to notice us." He rubbed a hand across dry, reddened eyes. "Dammit, Janice, think! You were here on this ship, in this line of business, long before I, or even Captain Levitt, came aboard. I _know_ you're a consummate professional. Is there anything... _anything_ you know was being looked at or thought about for future platforms that might help us now?"

Kathway shrugged, helplessly. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I don't think so. This ship and its class are state of the art. I _did_ keep my eyes and ears out for such possibilities, and as far as I know, there's was simply _nothing_ in the pipeline. Hell, we just recently transitioned away from manned exploration."

"Excuse me?" he asked, perking up.

"All those shuttles we carry for planetary exploration? We used to use them for pushing out into hyperspace as well. It was a lot slower than the current setup, though. _A lot_ slower. Not only did you have to be more cautious, having people on the sharp end, but those shuttles don't have the same levels of acceleration as the drones, which means slowing things down even more, as it was harder for them to extract themselves from any trouble they might have run into. Then, of course, they're much larger, so we couldn't carry as many." She hesitated. "I suppose we could send them out to assist in the exploration. The pilots are just sitting around right now. It won't be much, but every little bit helps."

Gideon's brains struggled to turn. He hadn't slept in quite a while, and it felt like there was wet cement between his ears. But...there was something there. _Dammit, think!_

He shocked her by shooting out his hand to grip her shoulder, and pull her in closer. "All of our shuttles have a full comm station, as well as tracking and sensor systems for planetary exploration, correct?"

"Yes, Sir," she commented, not attempting to break his hold.

"Then we could set up those stations for running exploration operations."

He could see the mental gears begin turning behind her own tired eyes. "Have the shuttles run some drones of their own?" She nodded. "I think that will work, Captain. It'll take some of the strain off of the stations aboard the Eratosthenes, so we lose fewer drones to errors from simply being overtasked. It'll also allow us to get minor exploration operations going along the less promising routes, so we don't lose as much time if we have to come back to them. Yes, that'll help, more than a little."

He could see the tiny spark of hope kindle behind her eyes, as his own mind continued to churn, faster and faster. He could see that spark being blocked by her realism. It simply wasn't enough to save them. Time to blow that block wide open.

"No, Janice. We aren't going to have the shuttles run the drones, we're going to have them run _tugs_."

"Tugs?" she asked, in evident confusion.

"Yes. Tugs. And any other high thrust civilian vessel out there. The fleet is full of them. You said it yourself; the big limiting factor is acceleration, and how well a platform can pull itself out of danger. The shuttles run the tugs, and the tugs, and any makeshift tugs we can jury rig together, run the sensor platforms. They push the sensors and drones ahead faster and further than we have been able to, and when they run into trouble, they've got the engines to pull themselves and their platforms back. Or, if they're too deep, they cut loose the drone, and just pull themselves to safety."

He could see she was starting to get excited now. "That could really work. Those tugs are all different profiles though. It's going to take some time to calculate the safety parameters for all of them."

"Too much time. Have our best people take their best guess, and make sure it's on the aggressive end."

"Captain….Sir, that would almost certainly entail losing some of those ships. You're talking about putting civilian vessels….civilians...on the sharp end. It's one thing to lose drones...or even military personnel. We'll be throwing civilians into the fire."

"The Minbari are here. Everyone in this fleet is dead, including the operators of those tugs and potential tugs. This gives them a chance to save themselves. And we're not just talking about tugs either. Civilian shuttles or small craft should be pulled in as well. Even if they only have the most basic of comm and data systems, they should be able to partner with a tug, or run a drone. The better their systems, the more they can supplement us, but it's their quantity, not their quality, that is really going to help. I can't believe we didn't think of using the civilians before. We've got to throw every possible resource at this. We need to explore as broad an area possible, as quickly as possible."

Kathway was clearly refocused, hope and a task she could perform to save lives, including her own, burning away the fatigue she had been struggling under. "There should be a lot of ships that fit that parameter. The crews won't be well trained, but we won't make them run many sensors at once. Damn! We're going to run out of sensor drones before we run out of potential operators!"

"We use the temp beacons. Give those to the tugs, as they are the most likely not to be lost when something goes wrong. We'll assign the more powerful drones to any shuttles running them directly, without the tugs for additional propulsion."

"If we start moving forward a lot faster, and I think we just might, then we're going to need those beacons to maintain a path back to this system. And as hard as you want to push, as we need to push, we're still going to burn through our stocks of drones and beacons rather quickly."

"Burn them up then. We're all in. And no, we're not going to need the temp beacons to maintain a lock on the local gate. We're going to borrow a page from the lifeboat service."

"Captain?"

"When a ship foundered in bad weather, they'd go out in huge dorries, to save the crew and passengers. They'd form a line of lifeboats from the ship to the shore...a kind of lifeline. We're going to do the same thing, give every civilian ship a chance to participate in our survival. We'll organize the ships into groups of two...hell, three, there are plenty of them...to ensure no loss of signal. The first group stops just far enough out that they have a positive lock on the local gate signal. The second group will proceed one thousand kilometers further in, and lock onto the signal of the first group. The third group will lock onto the signal of the second one, and so on, out to where ever the explorers are."

"We could fully run multiple deep explorations simultaneously," Janice said in awe. "Each with their own chain. Combined with the shuttles and tugs, we could really, _really_ , push forward quickly. It's dangerous. We could lose entire chains of ships. But tripled up, at a thousand kilometers seperation, I think we'd be fairly assured of maintaining signal lock."

"And if we progress far enough that we actually run short of civilian ships to throw into the chain, we can extend the range by moving the groups further out, like an expanding telescope. Or, if the signals start to get too tenuous, we could switch to groups of two. Or, hell, even one, if need be."

"I...I can't imagine us getting that far out without finding _something_. This could really work, Captain!"

"It better. But nothing's going to work unless we get it moving ourselves. Lieutenant Commander, organize our own shuttles and tugs, and get the appropriate personnel to those stations. I want every one of our vessels launched and operating in no more than an hour. Can you do it?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good, because I've got to coordinate with all of those civie captains. I have a feeling herding those cats is going to take a fair bit longer."  
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 **Z'ha'dum - EAS Nova - May, 2249**

"Alright Delta, the Minbari are in system," Lieutenant Jason Ironheart said to his gathered pilots. The ready room was overflowing. Ironheart had been assigned as Squadron Commander of Red Delta Squadron, but no one had yet been found to step into the same role for Blue Delta. Until that slot was filled, Red and Blue Delta had been nominally merged into a single outsized squadron of four flights, with Ironheart in the hot seat. All of the losses against the Minbari had yet to be fully recouped, so they were actually not much stronger than three flights, but that was still a hell of a lot for one little Lieutenant to run. "We've had a good deal of luck. They've brought a lot fewer ships than we were expecting. Initial counts put it right at three hundred. The Commodore has a plan for slowing them down, and getting us the hell out of here, but we all need to do our part."

"Don't fill us full of shit, LT," one particularly annoying female pilot, newly transferred to the squadron, called out. "We all know this is a suicide mission. We'll do our part, with or without your fairy tales."

"Wiseass, if I wanted your opinion, I'd give it to you. Now, yes, the odds are long. _Really_ long. But Starkiller Sheridan has faced long odds before, and pulled us through every time. I've seen the battle plans. They include multiple options for our exfiltration from this system. Yes, there's a good chance some or all of us won't make it. But, if we don't work together and follow orders, each and every one of us, then we have exactly _no_ chance of making it through. So stow your garbage and get ready to pilot, pilot." Regaining his previous train of thought, he finished, "you all have your orders and starting coordinates. Time to get moving. We launch in five. Dismissed."

As the pilots shuffled out of the room, Ironheart gathered up his gear and headed towards his office. He had a quick stop to make before getting to his own Starfury. He was stopped shot when a familiar voice said, "Pretty good speech, but I hear you're short a wingman."

Spinning around, here stared with unbelieving eyes for several seconds, then lunged forward and pulled Ivanova into a big hug. "Susan!" he said, letting her go. "What are you doing here? I heard that you were…"

"The Fleet's most wanted? Yeah, but not anymore. I had...medical issues I would rather not go into. I was just cleared for flight operations, so if you really still don't have a wingman…"

"You can be my wingman any day! Head for your fighter. We've kept it in perfect condition, right where you left it. I just have to make a quick stop, and I'll be right there." As Susan went to suit up, Jason completed his trip to his office.

Sliding behind his desk, he inserted a key into the single locked drawer and turned. Pulling it open, he looked at the mass of pills inside. His telepathy enhancers. He was entirely certain, now, that his telepathy was getting stronger. He might actually have cracked P12 by now...at least on the lower end. But he seemed to have plateaued. He was going to need every advantage he could get, if he wanted to get his people through this fight. Fortunately, something had recently seemed to put Commander Bester on edge, and he had delivered a three month supply all at once, rather than the usual weekly packages.

Jason reached in and grabbed a random handful of pills, then crammed them into his mouth and swallowed them dry. Reaching back in to grab a second handful, he repeated the process. Without wasting any time, he quickly emptied the rest of the pills into the pockets of his flight suit, then rose to head for his Starfury. He was already starting to feel nauseous, and his mind seemed no sharper. But, he would do whatever he could...anything...to ensure the survival of his pilots and his people. Whatever it took.  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Minbari Fleet, Ingata - May, 2249**

"Status report," Shai'Alyt Branmer ordered, as he strode into the command center of his flagship, the Ingata.

Alyt Neroon, his second in command, arose from the command chair and turned to him in surprise. "Deh-f'hurst, Shai'Alyt," Neroon said with a bow. "Welcome back. I am surprised that the Grey Council let you go."

"No doubt they keep a close eye on things, Neroon, but I am the commander of this battlefield. Now, my status report, please."

"As ordered, the fleet has spread out and advances on the outermost asteroid field. Consistent with the current theory that it is the shattered remains of this system's fourth gas giant, the field is massive in both depth and thickness. The humans could be hiding anywhere, so we have launched our fighters, and spread all forces across a very broad front, so as to speed up the penetration and search of the field. Our foremost units are coming into direct scanning range of the belt now."

"Detecting movement." a gruf Warrior manning sensors called out.

"Identify," Neroon barked.

"I cannot. Unable to maintain sensor lock. Multiple movement points across a broad arc of the belt, but they fade into and out of view within seconds, without providing a solid return to sensors."

"The humans have no such technology!" Neroon snapped derisively, considering replacing the Warrior with another who could do his job properly.

"They don't need it," Branmer commented calmly. "They have an enormous and dense asteroid belt within which to play. Given the amount of dust and gas also spread throughout that expanse, it is nearly nebular as well. Likely we are seeing the movements of their fighter craft, darting from one hiding spot to another, preparing to meet us. Under such circumstances, the limited effectiveness of our sensors is to be expected. The humans have the defensive advantage, but it will not save them. Not with the forces we have available."

He paused, looking at his second expectantly. Neroon took the hint, and commanded, "Push ahead into the belt, in three ship contingents. We will route one group towards any movement detected, but continue to advance along as broad an arc as possible. The humans will not be allowed to use their fighters to draw us away from any hidden Warrior or Worker craft. Fayzen shok!"

The fleet surged ahead. Moments later, the first trio of warships, a Sharlin and a pair of Tinashi, entered the field near one of the sightings of movement. Moments later, they were engulfed by a powerful nuclear explosion, sending bits of shattered asteroid and ship spinning in every direction."

"Message to all ships," Branmer commanded in a strident voice. "All stop."

"Vi drosh, Shai'Alyt," Neroon said diffidently. "This cowardly tactic should have been anticipated. I take full responsibility."

"The responsibility is mine, not yours Alyt. And the tactic was anticipated, though I assumed we would at least see their ships before it was employed. This is Starkiller we face, Neroon. In the humans' home system, and while we were driving through human controlled space, we could by and large simply avoid such traps and drive on their various worlds. But here, the humans _have_ no worlds. The most likely position of the ships we seek is hiding within the asteroid belts which are also the most likely locations of such traps. The only thing which really surprises me is the sheer number of such weapons the human fleet carries. You would think they would have run out long since."

"With the Earth Alliance shattered, and their systems fallen, Shai'Alyt; I cannot imagine where they could have found resupply. Perhaps some hidden caches of food or basic munitions, but this quantity of nuclear devices? It seems impossible. They _must_ have had them all from the beginning. Without doubt, a clear sign of their aggressive and barbaric nature."

"Perhaps. We will advance at half speed, with Nials deployed in screening formation. Maximum sensors, scanning focused on radiological emissions. Weapons release authorized to destroy the location of those emissions at range, even if sensors have yet to identify the source."

"Shai'Alyt," Neroon said diffidently, "that will significantly slow our advance."

"And save a great many ships we have no reason to lose. I will not throw away Minbari lives and ships just to eliminate the humans a bit sooner. What can they possibly do with that additional time? They are trapped in this system with nowhere to go, and no way to leave save the gate we hold."

"They could travel out into the Kuiper Belt. We believe the hyperspace block does not extend much further than that."

"And then what, Neroon? If they transition into hyperspace, they would still have to return to the gate in order to ride the beacon to one of the connecting systems. Which would run them straight into the much larger fleet we have in hyperspace, sitting on that beacon. The humans have nowhere to go. Besides, we have another reason for caution. Remember where we are, Neroon. This is the former home of the Shadows, and the Grey Council has been concerned that they may be moving again. It has even been suggested that the humans might be Shadow thralls. I do not agree with that reasoning myself, but simply being in this system should drive us to greater caution. Slow or not, we move carefully, Neroon."

"Si dromo, Shai'Alyt."  
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 **Hyperspace, near Z'ha'dum - Shuttle Rokai - May, 2249**

Lieutenant Catherine Sakai ran the Rokai at max acceleration back down the collapsing seventh line of exploration. The seventh line had seemed the least promising, so she had been assigned to the tip of that spear along with a mess of civilian craft in support. She had lost a half dozen sensor drones in the process, but the Commander Gideon's new exploration process, along with the powerful engines of the Rokai, had kept her safe from the various grav inclines and hyperspace riptides she had run into. And in the process they had eliminated all possible avenues of advance, confirming the seventh line was a dead end.

The Rokai, she had grown to hate this ship, but it was starting to grow on her again. Between its engines, sensors, and computer systems, it was better at this new job than even the exploration shuttles the Eratosthenes carried. And it could all be handled by one person, which is why Lieutenant Commander Kathway had tasked her to this position. Because she was the most familiar with the Rokai, and also had all of the requisite skills.

The anchor craft came into view, still surrounded by a host of civilian vessels in the process of being organized into either the beacon chain or the explorer crews. It looked chaotic, but it was absolutely astonishing how fast Gideon had thrown this together. That boy...that _Captain_...she corrected her own thoughts...was some kind of miracle worker. They were exploring along seven lines of advance simultaneously. _Seven_! It was absolutely revolutionary. But, now that it was in operation, she and about half of the long term exploration crew were absolutely kicking themselves for not having thought of it earlier. Gideon might just pull off a miracle and save them all.

"Shuttle Rokai to whoever's in charge of this mess," she broadcast on an open, but low powered frequency. "Returning from line seven. Requesting instructions."

"Acknowledged, shuttle Rokai," came the response after a few moments. It was Gideon himself. He must be out here in a shuttle, or perhaps he had taken up residence on one of the civilian liners. "I'm assigning everything from the seventh line to the third. Good work out there. Now get busy."

"Yes, Sir! Shuttle Rokai, over and out."

Catherine located the third line of exploration, and swung the Rokai onto it, the rest of the assets from the seventh line struggling and failing to keep up with her. They'd get into place in their own time, but she wanted to be in the vanguard _now_. The third line was already thirty thousand klicks long at its farthest point and had branched several times. It was rapidly becoming the most promising avenue of advance, and they were starting to run short of exploration resources, so she and the other units from the seventh would be very welcome. She had heard that the second line, which had been one of the most promising initially, also looked ready to dead end. Those resources would probably also be assigned to the third line.

She guessed that as additional units were organized, or freed up from collapsed lines, that they would probably be sent forward into the first line, in support of the Eratosthenes, which was still driving forward rapidly. She supposed that one of the other lines might bear fruit, but her bet was on either the first or the third.

She passed the first trio in the third line's hyperspace chain, and goosed her engines to get another percent or two of acceleration out of them. _Frag me. We might actually pull this off._  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Minbari Fleet, Ingata - May, 2249**

Two warriors carted in a blackened, twisted hunk of metal, and deposited it onto the deck between Branmer and Neroon, before departing. Both officers scowled at the offending object, as one of the Worker caste assigned to the ship approached and bowed respectfully.

"What is it?" Neroon asked.

The Worker bowed again. "Alyt, we believe this is what we have been shooting at." Behind his, the Warrior at weapons called out as the Neutron Cannons fired, carving up another asteroid, and presumably the ship or fighter or bomb; or whatever the radiological source was which was hiding behind it. "There was a nuclear device attached to this object, the remains of which we have removed."

"But what is it," Neroon persisted.

"It is a remote sensor drone. Less advanced and smaller than the kind we have seen used by the humans for system defense or exploration. This is similar to what they use for ship maintenance and inspection, or by their Worker information disseminations services….the _news media_ , I believe they call it. Extremely limited capabilities, but it does have limited propulsion, sensors, and data processing functions. Enough to move around randomly, and stay in relatively hidden positions. Enough to recognize our warships at extremely short range and detonate the attached nuclear charge. After having reviewed our sensor logs of the battle so far, all contacts we have yet detected appears to be consistent with this or similar platforms."

"A trick!" Neroon fumed. "It was all a human trick! Will Starkiller never tire of them? Shai'Alyt, I urge that we push forward immediately."

"Remember our lost ships, Alyt. This may have been a trick, but it was still every bit the trap we were concerned about, and we kept the bulk of our forces out of it. We should also remember that we have yet to clear this belt. Just because these drones were here, doesn't mean that their fleet isn't still hiding here somewhere. There is a gas giant next, I believe."

"Yes," Neroon responded. "but it is currently on the far side of its orbit, so there is nothing between here and the next asteroid belt...also apparently a shattered gas giant, even larger than this one. Given the smaller orbital diameter, it is both thicker and denser than this one."

"Advance half of our forces, including the Ingata, towards the next belt and maximum acceleration. However, when they get there, they are to revert to the current search and destroy profile. The rest of our ships will remain in this belt, clearing it along both orbital and anti-orbital directions." He paused and thought for a moment. "I will call in another one hundred and fifty vessels, from the units in hyperspace, to join us and assist with the clearance of the next belt."

"Si dromo, Shai'Alyt."  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Secondary asteroid belt, Random asteroid - May, 2249**

Ironheart stared out his cockpit into the darkness of the surrounding asteroid belt. This one was full of dust and gases, but the only way to know that in the blackness was the fact that no starlight shown through. The primary itself was only a dim blur in the distance, not at all illuminating the massive asteroid to which all of Delta squadron had strapped themselves.

"There goes another one," Susan commed along their theoretically secure inter ship signal. In the distance, another asteroid flared as it was carved up by long range Minbari weapons fire. They had been sitting here in the darkness for hours. It was only in the last little bit that fireworks had started to appear sporadically in the skies.

"Maintain radio silence," he commed back absentmindedly. All of their power levels were stepped down to absolute minimums. They were embedded deeply within a crater. None of them carried nukes. Anything and everything to avoid detection by the advanced Minbari sensors, including eliminating any and all sensor emissions of their own. Which would have left them entirely blind, if not for Ironheart and the other more powerful telepaths of the squadron. He was, therefore, putting in a good deal of effort, and didn't need to be distracted. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out another half handful of pills and swallowed them, followed by a sip from his camelback.

 _There. The Minbari are there_. It was faint, but he was sure of it. The drones in this sector had been scattered to pull at least a few Minbari into this general area. _Looks like it worked_ , he thought to himself, electing to not share his discovery with the rest of the squadron.

It was another few minutes before one of the other telepaths reached out to him telepathically. _Ironheart, it's Dawson. I've located the Minbari. They're on the way, still several minutes out at their current rate of progress._

Ensign Jared Dawson was a P12 and former Psi Cop, one of the more recent pilot graduates. He and Commander Bester didn't seem to get along for some reason, which was why few of the squadron commanders had wanted to take him. Ironheart had leapt at the chance to get another solid telepath into his squad. He didn't, however, know what it meant that he had picked up the Minbari so much before Jared or any of the other telepaths had. _Acknowledged_ , he sent back. Flipping on the squadron comm channel, set to minimum power, he sent out, "Get prepped, squad. We have incoming. They should be here in a few minutes. Do not acknowledge." Time to wait.

The next several minutes seemed to drag on for an eternity. But, eventually, their targets came into view, right where they were supposed to be. As hoped, the Minbari appeared to be just as unable to use their jump engines in this system as the less advanced human craft. The reason for that blockage was still a mystery. However, it effectively forced the Minbari to slow boat through the system, rather than be able to jump in and out at will via hyperspace. This meant that their travel routes could be anticipated. Sheridan had intentionally placed some of the nuke armed drones so that a portion of the Minbari forces clearing them would be drawn along a particular route. It appeared to have worked perfectly.

A wing of Nial fighters sailed sedately past their position. Ironheart gave the signal, a telepathic pulse. He had spent weeks working with the mundane pilots in the squadron to ensure that even they would instantly recognize the unorthodox form of communication. It was part of the reason Delta had been chosen for this mission.

As one, all four flights of Delta squadron kicked in full power, and shot out of the crater, hot on the tails of the unsuspecting Minbari fighters. The telepaths had long since acquired and disseminated the location of those six lonely Nials. The entire squadron was firing their pulse cannons even before they cleared the rim of the crater. The Nials burst like soap bubbles, only one of them even managing to begin a turn.

Ironheart dialed his comm array to maximum, and broadcast in the clear. "Great job, people! Now let's get the frag out of here!" He kicked his engines to maximum thrust, and led the squadron deeper into the field.

Neither the destruction of the Minbari fighters nor his broadcast had gone unnoticed. From left, right, above, and below, other wings of Minbari fighters, on similar clearance duty, changed course and acceleration to give chase. They were closing in from all sides.

Ironheart popped a couple more pills, as he tried to track their approach, both visually and telepathically. They'd never be able to defeat that many fighters. Fortunately, they didn't have to. When it felt like the advancing Nials were at roughly the correct distance, Jason toggled a switch on his panel. Over a hundred nukes, pre-planted on the surrounding asteroids and heavily shielded to mask their radiation, detonated as one. They were amongst the smaller, tactical warheads they still had, but it didn't take all that much to bring down a Nial. Of the several squadrons which had been bearing down on them, less than a handful survived the storm of fire and asteroid fragments which erupted all around them, and that handful was left powerless and drifting.

A spear of green fire burned one of his Starfurys from the heavens. In the far distance, more wings of Nials were heading in their direction, but that shot had come from something far larger. Behind them, a trio of Sharlin, part of the clearance operations, were giving chase.

"Max speed people," Ironheart ordered. "Stay evasive. We're going to pull in close to these asteroids, and try to keep them between us and those fat sows." As he was speaking, another streak of green signaled the death of another of his pilots. He didn't slow down to mourn; merely led the squadron in a dive for the cover of the nearest asteroid. They continued to move deeper into the field, darting from cover to cover, crossing through and heading for the far side. He lost three more pilots before the shots suddenly ceased. "Does anybody see why they stopped firing?"

"Because we're about to get creamed by three or four squadrons of Nials," Susan said excitedly.

"Good."

" _Good?!"_

"Yup. They're right on time. On my mark, everyone cease jinking, match my vector, and cut thrust. Three, two, one, _mark_!" The squadron straightened out and ceased maneuvering. Just over three seconds later, Black Omega squadron shot right through their formation, under maximum thrust and heading in the opposite direction. _They_ were fully loaded with nuclear ordinance.

The closing squadrons of enemy fighters had been just about to enter weapons range. They never got the chance. Each Starfury in Black Omega fired a scattershot trio of nukes, bracketing the various oncoming wings of Minbari. The attack was devastating, and the few survivors fell back to the safety of their mother ships. Black Omega continued to fire off the remainder of their nukes, now attempting to slow down or push back the still oncoming trio of Sharlin. They then looped around to rejoin Delta in their resumed flight across the belt.

"Commander Bester," Jason sent across the open channel. "Always a pleasure. Welcome to the party."

"Lieutenant Ironheart. Sorry to interrupt, but it seemed like you were having all of the fun. Very selfish of you not to share."

"My apologies, Commander. You are, of course, always welcome to join in. Delta will make certain to set aside some scraps for you." He heard the chuckles over the squadron net, and could feel the slight lowering of tensions amongst his people. It wasn't much, but he would take what he could get.

"We'd better hurry, Lieutenant," Bester continued. "The nukes didn't push back those Sharlin as much as I would have liked. We still have a ways to go. Why don't you take point?"

"Acknowledged."

The combined squadrons continued their flight, pushing their engines for all they were worth. However, in just over two minutes, the Sharlin had reacquired their range, and a bolt of green obliterated one of the Starfurys...from Black Omega this time.

"Pull in tighter to the asteroids," Ironheart ordered, without bothering to consult with Bester. He led the way himself. The evasive maneuvers made it much harder for the enemy vessels to get a hit. However, it also slowed down the squadron's flight significantly, allowing the Sharlin to pull in closer and closer. Three more Starfurys died while Ironheart led the chase, jinking and maneuvering the combined squadrons for all he was worth. He extended his telepathic sense to its utmost, trying to feel the Minbari gunners, to determine where their shots would be placed. He couldn't be sure it was working, but the enemy scored not a single kill for a couple of minutes, despite closing to nearly point blank range.

Ironheart was doing everything he could think of to keep them alive, but he wouldn't last much longer. _There_! Ahead of them was a massive rubble pile of an asteroid. He led his people right across the top of it, then dipped down under cover of the far side, praying that the Minbari wouldn't just shoot right through the mass to get at his people. Instead of continuing on with their headlong flight, he led the Starfurys in an orbit of the asteroid, swinging around underneath it and returning to the rear as the trio of Sharlin passed above.

"Delta put them right where we wanted them, Commodore," Lieutenant Commander Laurel Takashima offered. "They couldn't have done a better job. Lieutenant Ironheart really knows his stuff."

"He does indeed, Laurel. He does indeed." Sheridan watched as the trio of Sharlin swept over the 'asteroid.' "Blow charges."

A series of hundreds of large chemical explosives blew away the boulders painstakingly hauled into place to conceal the mighty Nova class vessel. Its guns were already aimed in roughly the right direction. As expected, the Minbari were flying in their standard chevron formation, with the center ship on point, and its compatriots flying well aft of it to port and starboard. That meant those trailing vessels were now also to port and starboard of the Nova. They were also a bit above, and already ahead of the ship, but still well within the range of the guns.

"Fire!" Sheridan commanded, and the ship let loose with a perfect pair of broadsides, each gun telepathically guided. He had been hoping that the trailing vessels would have been Tinashis, ensuring a properly placed salvo would earn a kill. As it turned out, there was only so much you could control. The broadsides tore into the surprised vessels, their commanders only now awakening to the danger. But though they were grievously damaged, their side armor rent and bleeding atmosphere, they were neither destroyed nor incapacitated. They began their turns to face off against the human dreadnought. Ahead, their lead ship was doing the same, its undamaged form spinning much more quickly. It was now broadside on to the Nova, its weapons ready to fire.

"Fire!" Sheridan commanded again, and this time a single energy mine spat from one of the prow mounted tubes. The weapons were designed to be long range, area denial weapons. No one had ever considered firing them at a target less than twenty klicks away. The telepaths had aimed true, and the projectile struck the Minbari vessel directly amidships. The Sharlin came apart like tissue paper. And then the energy wave struck the Nova, and alarms screamed as radiation sleeted across the ship, burning out sensors and interfering with electronics. But the Nova was a well built craft, heavily armored and with highly redundant systems. She came through the blast wave intact.

The same could not be said for the remaining Sharlins. Far closer to the detonation, with their facing sides already torn and open to space, the inbound energy poured into the vessels, shredding their insides and destroying critical systems. First one and then the other lost containment on their reactors, and both ships detonated, adding to the fireworks lighting up the night. Not a single shot had been fired at the Nova.

"Damage report," Sheridan commanded calmly.

Laurel looked over from her station, "We got a little cooked, but we're ok."

"Any other enemy vessels within sensor range?"

"Negative, Sir."

"Let's get moving then. Get those Starfurys back aboard for refit. Wake up the Mother. We've got a crossing to make. As soon as the last fighter is aboard, go to full output on reactors and engines."

Moments later, bare seconds after the last of the Starfurys had docked, the Nova leaped ahead, the engineers squeezing every ounce of acceleration they could out of her powerful engines. The Mother slipped out from behind the nearby asteroid which had hidden her, and joined in the flight. They were already near the inner edge of the belt. With the nearest Minbari destroyed, he hoped and prayed that they could make the sprint across open space. Had their destination been the innermost asteroid belt, there was simply no way they could have made it before the Minbari overtook them. However, they were instead headed for the innermost gas giant, located between the two belts and perfectly positioned for the Nova and Mother to drive straight there.

Whatever quirk of planetary formation had caused this system to form three asteroid belts had also overloaded the rings of the various gas giants. The ring system and numerous moons towards which they were now headed were stunningly massive in both depth and breadth, extending outwards from the planet for over five million kilometers. Between that size and the similarly enormous size and relative nearness of the asteroid belt they had just left, their route to the relative cover of that gas giant would be just over a third of an AU.

They had been accelerating for almost fifteen minutes when first one, and then another trio of Minbari vessels, all Sharlin, broke free from the inner surface of the belt, and gave chase. A few minutes later, a third group, comprised of a Shargotti and two Tinashis, also emerged to join in the hunt.

The transit had become a race. The Nova and Mother had a significant head start and the more direct route. The Minbari vessels had significantly better acceleration. The chase seemed to stretch for an eternity as the Minbari slowly closed in on and then overtook their speed, and then began eating away at the distance between them. They clawed their way closer, kilometer by kilometer, trying to get to within effective weapons range.

"Redline the engines," Sheridan commanded. The Minbari were overtaking too quickly. They'd be within weapons range before he could get his people under cover. With them coming in on multiple vectors, spinning and trying to hold them back with energy mines would be futile. Speed was their only option. Laurel confirmed the order, and Sheridan felt the ship shudder as the engines and reactors went beyond their specified limits.

A moment later, the young Ensign manning sensors called out, "The Mother is beginning to fall behind."

"Lieutenant Commander Takashima," Sheridan ordered, "raise the Captain of the Mother. Tell him to burn his engines if he has to, but they need to keep up."

"Yes, Sir." She got on the comms, and several moments later the Mother stopped losing ground, though it had already fallen a ship's length behind.

They raced closer and closer to the rings of the gas giant, now completely filling their forward view. Laurel punched in a command, and the view seemed to zoom in, closer and closer, until it was focused on a tiny gap between two massive rocks. "There's our opening through the rings. We go through there, and we'll immediately be out of the line of fire of our pursuers. But, it's only about fifteen kilometers across. At the speeds we're moving, that's a hell of a small needle to thread."

"Can't be helped," Sheridan noted calmly. "We either make it through...or we don't."

"Yes, Sir."

"How long?"

"Forty-five seconds."

"How long until the Minbari have us in range?"

Laurel shrugged helplessly. "It could be anytime. They're really close now." Both of the initial two chase groups were close to entering weapons range. The Shargotti, with the most powerful engines of any of the ships, had also closed the distance, leaving its companion Tinashis well behind.

" _Targeting scans_!" the Ensign on sensors shouted, "The Minbari are in range and have locked onto us!"

"Which ships are targeting us?" Sheridan asked, trying to maintain his calm.

"All of them! Not one is targeting the Mother. Just us," she said, the fear evident in her voice. A second later, she continued, "Their weapons are powering up, preparing to fire!"

Sheridan closed his eyes. _They'll get us, but the Mother will make it through. That's something. At least, until the next set of ships gets them._ He hoped...he _prayed_ for a miracle.

Instead, he got a sacrifice. The Mother suddenly snapped into a spin, going broadside to the pursuing Minbari, just as they fired on the Nova. Perhaps it was a miracle, because all of the dozens of beams fired at the Nova struck the Mother instead. Of the many which were powerful enough to punch right through and strike the Nova anyway, all had been degraded sufficiently not to penetrate her rear armor. They carved into her backside, damaging engines and guns and power feeds. Alarms blared all across the bridge, indicating numerous points of damage, but none of it was mortal. None of it was debilitating. A split second later, the Mother blew apart, taking all hands with her.

All hands, except Black Omega squadron, which had launched just seconds before. The Nova and Black Omega swept through the tiny opening, well clear of the sides. As they did so, nuclear charges, implanted earlier on the two enormous boulders garding the gateway, detonated. They shattered the rocks spreading debris throughout the opening. The six Sharlin and one Shargotti, now travelling at a significant fraction of the speed of light, tried to pass through an opening which no longer existed. Instead, they slammed into what was now an impenetrable wall. It did not go well for them. All that remained was a pair of Tinashis, slamming on the brakes in order to avoid the same fate.  
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 **Hyperspace, near Z'ha'dum - 1st Line of Exploration, EAS Eratosthenes - May, 2249**

Commander Matthew Gideon strode hurriedly onto the Bridge of the Eratosthenes. He had never seen it so busy. Crew members were crammed in, two to a station, multiple shifts operating together, all trying to maintain order amidst the chaos. To organize and utilize the masses of civilians who had intruded into their orderly world of hyperspace exploration.

Matt didn't feel too bad for them. Up until half an hour ago, he had been trying to do the same job almost entirely by himself, from the deck of a shuttle. He had needed to be back down at the hub of exploration lines, where the civilian ships were, and where they could still pick up the jump gate beacon. Using a powerful enough signal to punch through to the rest of the fleet from where the Eratosthenes explored would have risked being noticed by the Minbari. So, he'd gotten a pilot and a utility shuttle and had flown back to put his plan in motion. Now _that_ had been chaotic. Getting the basic idea across to the civilian captains. Getting assets and crew assigned and paired up with his own military resources. Getting them all moving in the right direction. Working directly with civilians really was like herding cats.

Worse, the larger the exploration effort had gotten, the trickier it had been to juggle all of the details. But, Kathway had also been busy. Even while driving the Eratosthenes's own exploration efforts forward, she had banged out and slammed into place a relay communication protocol. It allowed them to rapidly and concisely communicate with any and all ships in the exploration effort by passing signals from ship to ship along the various exploration chains. It also allowed for a much greater level of efficiency and effort, by linking and coordinating every ship through the experts on the Eratosthenes. The results of which he could now see around him.

"Report," he ordered striding to his seat.

Kathway looked up at him from where she was bent over a console, checking readouts. "Captain, welcome back. You really lit a fire under this effort, Sir. I've never seen anything like it."

"Your comm protocols are probably doing as much or more for the effort, Commander. Now bring me up to speed. I've been out of the loop for the last half an hour."

"Yes, Sir. Exploration lines two, five and six have all dead ended, with those resources being transitioned elsewhere. We've located and started an eighth line of exploration, but we're expecting that to be the last one. Lines one, three and four have all pushed out at least fifty thousand klicks, Sir, and each has multiple branches. It's...it's really astonishing, Captain. I've never seen anything like it. But that's the good news."

"By which I assume you're telling me there's bad news?"

"Call them...concerns."

"I'm listening."

"Well firstly, we've already pushed ahead far farther than I would have believed possible. We're starting to run out of ships to put into the chains. I was thinking of breaking off exploration on some of the less promising branches and assigning those assets so we can keep pushing forward on the more promising routes."

"Negative. Extend the distance between the rungs of the ladder by twenty-five percent. If we run run short again, start pairing down the groups making up the rungs from three ships to two. If you run short after that, we'll extend the distance between groups out to fifteen hundred klicks. I can't imagine we'll get far enough where we have to choose between going to one ship per rung or extending past fifteen hundred klicks, not without finding something. But, if we do, we'll make the decision at that time."

"That's another concern, Captain. I've been running the numbers. As deep as we've gotten, we probably _should_ have found something by now. Probably along more than one of the lines. The fact that we haven't leads me to believe that what you said in our last meeting with the Commodore was probably correct."

"You mean when I said that being out here near the rim, systems to find are probably fewer and farther between?"

"Yes, Sir. But, what if it's worse than that? What if these routes we're exploring...what if they've already taken us past the rim and into intergalactic space? We'll never explore our way through that."

Gideon looked at her askance. "Don't let your fears get the best of you, Janice. We do the job that's in front of us, and we keep on doing it until we're successful. Because, we have to be. Because, we have no other choice."

"Yes, Captain."

"Anything else?

"Just one item, Sir. Possibly because we are close to the rim, this area of space seems to have a larger than usual number of hyperspace hazards. Grav inclines, riptides, the whole gamut. As I expressed earlier, we've been burning through our stocks of drones and beacons. We're already well below fifty percent, and only slowing down is going to make them last longer. I'm assuming your going to tell me _not_ to slow down, but I needed to let you know that we were depleting our stocks of a critical resource."

"Acknowledged. And you are correct, we aren't slowing down. I've run the numbers. Chances are that the Minbari will find us before we run out."

"Just so long as we find an exit before either of those two things happens."

"That's the plan," he responded with a small, exhausted smile.  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Minbari Fleet, Ingata - May, 2249**

"Please explain to me, Alyt Neroon, how it is that Starkiller has slipped through our fingers yet again?" Branmer asked. The words were phrased as a rebuke, but the tone offered neither accusation nor rebuke, but only simple curiosity.

He had just returned from consulting with the Grey Council, a necessity he would dearly have liked to avoid. Better if they had listened to him and returned the Valen'Tha to hyperspace. But they had the right to go where they chose, and when the Grey Council summoned you to provide a status update, you went. And then, while he had been trying to explain why Starkiller's escape to the gas giant didn't really change anything, the tactical situation had moved again.

Neroon offered no excuse. "We expected them to hide amongst the moons and rings as they did within the asteroid belt. The ships I sent to search the planet's orbitals were given instructions to follow the same precautions we were using here in the belts. Given the radiation shielded nukes they have already used against us, and Starkiller's penchant for traps and ambushes, I insisted that they exercise even greater caution."

"A wise order, Alyt."

"Perhaps, but it was the wrong one. Rather than stopping and hiding in the rings, Starkiller cut his engines and went dark, stepping back his reactors to minimal levels. He also rotated his ship so that the hottest surfaces would be facing away from us. Then he just allowed his existing momentum to carry him past the planet, like just another dead rock in space. Our pursuers were so focused on finding his hiding spot in the rings, it took them far longer than it should have to locate his ship and realize that he was running for the inner belt."

"But they did locate it."

"Yes Shai'Alyt. Starkiller's trick may have worked, but it didn't work well enough to save him. The moment he was spotted, every ship near the planet, nearly a score or them, set off in pursuit. Of course, Starkiller began accelerating again, he will make it to the inner belt before our vessels can get within range of him. It will be close though, Sir. We hope to arrive quickly enough that Starkiller does not have the chance to settle into place to take advantage of any traps or defensive strong points he may have set up without also alerting us of their position.

Branmer nodded in satisfaction. "And the human cruiser and carrier?"

"Our lead forces spreading out anti-spinward through the secondary belt ran into a fighter ambush, utilizing fighter launched nuclear devices. We lost a significant number of Nials, and took minor damage to a Sharlin before the humans turned and fled. Denmar, the Alyt leading the Shargotti on point, assumed it was a similar ambush to that which Starkiller used. He massed all the nearest ships, to overcome any possible ambush, and chased down the human fighters."

"But it wasn't the ambush he expected," Branmer asserted, quietly.

"No, it was not. The human fighter craft led our ships into a region densely packed with large asteroids. This was expected. Alyt Denmar expected another ambush from a hidden ship, but he was also concerned about a repeat of Starkiller's ambush of the Drala Fi. He ordered his ships to scanned the asteroids as closely as practical while the ships maintained their chase of the human fighters. They were looking for the telling radiation spike of a hidden ship, or hidden nuclear mines. Despite their speed, they found them. Dozens. Hundreds. But, too far off of their direct route to be a significant danger. A danger, yes, but not severe enough for the Alyt to call off the chase. It was clearly a human trap, but one that had just as clearly failed. Yes, entirely clear, until over a score of them detonated."

"How many ships were lost?"

"None. Denmar's analysis was correct. The devices were too far off to cause catastrophic harm to his vessels. He had maintained a minimal zone of safety around them, steering wide enough around any danger points to keep his vessels safe. The human net was simply far wider than his safe zone. Wider, than we would have considered. Perhaps, if I had not ordered him to be so cautious, he might have shown greater aggression and overtaken the human fighters before falling into the trap."

"You were mirroring my own orders, Neroon, and I believe that was the correct choice. You just said that none of those ships were destroyed."

"No, but they are trapped. When the first set of devices detonated, the effect on the field was dramatic. No doubt that was Starkiller's intention. It was like dropping multiple pebbles into a pond. It unleashed chaos. Before the detonation, the asteroids were densely packed and relatively stable. The path through them was complex but clear. The explosions shattered that stability, as well as the larger asteroids to which they were affixed. Thousands of large fragments of the asteroids were thrown in every direction. They slammed into other asteroids, breaking them and sending them spinning off to slam into yet more. Then the expanding wave from each detonation began to run into and interact with each other. Like disturbed water, there was no longer any way to see through it. Our ships were surrounded in a sphere of chaos. Rocks were bouncing off of our ships. Their armor was up to the task, until one of the human bombs detonated quite close to them. It seemed that some of the fragments still had the devices strapped to them, sometimes carrying them towards our ships. Several took significant damage. Now that they were forced to stop the chase, their scans showed thousands of the devices still out there. More detonated periodically, keeping the field riled. It was to chaotic, the debris moving too fast for adequate target identification. There simply wasn't time to determine which rocks carried bombs and which did not. Denmar was forced to tighten his formation and use every weapon to fend off all approaching debris. Which is where he remains, with bombs still going off, keeping his cage solid."

"He's shooting rocks?"

"Yes, Shai'Alyt. He is keeping his ships safe. His scans still show thousands of the devices around him. He is likely to be trapped there for some time."

"I would not have believed it was possible for the humans to still be carrying so many of their fission and fusion devices."

"Nor I, but the evidence is incontrovertible."

Branmer thought for a moment. "Send in a wing of Nials to get a close look at one of those devices. We need to know if they are part of a large stock from before their fleet launched, or if the humans have found some way to manufacture the devices during their travels. Or, perhaps they were able to purchase some from one of the alien races they came into contact with."

"Yes, Shai'Alyt."

"Let this be a lesson, Neroon. Despite Alyt Denmar's caution, he still played Starkiller's game. He rushed in, chasing the enemy. Despite his precautions, he still fell into a trap, because he was operating by the enemy's rules. There is no timetable here. We don't wish to stay in this system any longer than necessary, but here we have lost more time to a trap than we would have to a cautious and systematic sweep of the belt. A sweep which would have rendered the enemy's tactics unworkable and dislodged them from whatever strong points or hiding spots they held. Delenn has done some research into these humans. They have a parable I think you will find interesting. The tortoise and the hare. Ask her about it, when you get the chance."

Neroon bowed his head, happy to accept his superior's wisdom. "Thank you, Shai'Alyt."

"So, I assume that once the nearest Minbari ships were trapped, the human cruiser and carrier simply picked up their fighter craft, and then began their own run towards the inner belt?"

Neroon nodded. "Between what we had sent chasing Starkiller to the gas giant, and what was now trapped, there were no nearby ships to give chase. However, the humans underestimated our acceleration capabilities. I dispatched the three nearest Sharlin in pursuit. The distance was quite long, but that cruiser and carrier have no gas giant as a safe stepping stone. They will die, just short of the safety to which they are running. Long range sensors show them trying to increase their engine output, but they are already at their maximum."

"So, they have lost one warship already. Soon, the cruiser and carrier will join it. That will leave just Starkiller's dreadnought on the run. He won't last long." He nodded in satisfaction. "Has there been any sign of the fleet of Worker ships?"

"Not as yet."

"They must be hiding in the inner belt. We will find them eventually. For now, we wait for the confrontation with the two fleeing warships."

And wait they did. Crossing interplanetary distances took time. Even at the incredible speeds their vessels were able to achieve. And it also took time to build up to those speeds. But both Branmer and Neroon had long since learned the art of patience. Long before their patience was exhausted, three Sharlin were about to come into weapons range of the human cruiser and carrier, just short of the relative safety of the asteroid belt.

The Warrior manning sensors called out, "the human cruiser has cut acceleration and is rotating along its long axis. Its weapons are powered."

"So it's to be another sacrifice attempt. It will not save their carrier," Neroon said with a sneer. Calling out to the Religious caste female at the Communications station, he said, "Order our Sharlins to maintain acceleration. Destroy the cruiser as they move past, and smash that carrier before it enters the belt." Stepping back to Branmer, he commented, "I think we shall enjoy seeing this." So saying, he touched some controls, and the holographic display covering the ceiling and all sides of the room adjusted, zooming in towards the slaughter which was about to take place. The human cruiser with its entirely insufficient weaponry was trying to interpose itself between the trio of Sharlin and the carrier it was tasked with protecting. Behind it, that carrier was futilely running for the false promise of safety in the asteroid belt. The outlying asteroids of that belt could just be seen in the distance.

"Our ships are in range. Target acquired, and preparing to fire."

On the screen, powerful energy weapons fired, slicing across the vastness of space. Beams of incredible destruction, striking unerringly at their target, and carving through heavy armor as though it did not exist.

Purple beams. Beams which had not been seen for a thousand years. Coming from the distant asteroids, they slipped past the human craft to destroy all three Sharlin within seconds. The bisected vessels tumbled apart before the separate pieces detonated on their own.

Branmer lurched to his feet as Neroon and several others gave cries of shock. They watched as both human vessels entered the asteroid field and were lost from sight. And then there was nothing. The asteroids appeared just as innocuous as they had before. "How long before the ships chasing Starkiller enter the asteroid belt?" he asked sharply.

The Warrior at sensor took a few seconds to check, then stated, "Less than ten minutes."

"Order them to stop immediately. They are to send forward a wing of fighters to inspect the belt." The orders were relayed, but took some time to be carried out. The Minbari craft were able to arrest their velocity short of the belt. Shortly, six Nial fighters were launched to begin their inspection of the belt.

They approached cautiously, with a wide spread formation. It would not save them. At approximately the same range as the previous encounter, beams of purple fire lanced out from the nearest asteroids and began to sweep the craft from space. They were waiting for it, and began evasive maneuvers immediately, attempting to retreat. Despite their impressive acceleration and their Warrior pilots enduring g-forces which might cripple a human, the beams seemed to home in on them unerringly. Molecular slicer beams. _Shadow_ beams. Six fighters had approached. Only one, a single lucky individual, made it back to the mother craft.

Silence reigned in the command center. It was broken by the Religious caste at communications. She cleared her throat. "Shai'Alyt," she said hesitantly. "The Grey Council would like a word with you, at your soonest convenience."  
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 **Z'ha'dum - EAS Nova - May, 2249**

"What the _hell_ just happened?" Sheridan was checking his displays, rapidly sifting through the available data. There wasn't much.

"Apparently asteroids shoot purple lasers now," Laurel commented drolly. "Powerful ones at that. I'm not complaining, but it would have been nice to get a memo."

Despite himself, Sheridan chuckled. "Alright. Let's not look this gift horse in the mouth. But we _do_ need to study it. Where did those beams come from? Who fired them? Why did the attack the Minbari and not us?"

"Commodore," Ensign Lake, manning communications, called out, "we just received a message from Captain Sinclair. He reports a similar occurrence at their entry point to this belt. Three Sharlin destroyed by asteroid beams. Both the Lexington and Midway are intact and undamaged. Requesting orders."

"Have them continue their current course unless otherwise notified. We will rendezvous with them within the next several hours." He paused, deep in thought for a moment, then added, "Send the First Contact package again. Target those asteroids which just shot up the Minbari, as well as the deserted planet. Directional comms. Make sure it's not pointed at the Minbari."

He drifted over to the sensors station and set his hand on the shoulder of Lieutenant Jones. "Jonesy, are you picking up anything from those asteroids? Or the planet for that matter? Any indication of who or what fired those shots?"

The young man shook his head. "Commodore, I can't even tell if there's any kind of machinery in them. As far as sensors are concerned, they're just plain old, ordinary rocks….that fire purple lasers."

"How about the planet? Anything new?"

"It appears to be just as dead as before?"

Sheridan scowled, but said, "Thanks, Jonesy." He returned to his seat, once more deep in thought. For some reason, those weapons were only targeting Minbari ships. So maybe whoever lived or had once lived here had some animosity towards the Minbari. Or perhaps his own ships were simply not advanced enough to be worthy of destruction or notice. Whatever the case, it meant that, in order to attack the Nova, Lexington, or Midway in their current locations, the Minbari would need to bring a powerful enough force to fight their way past those asteroids with the incredible purple energy weapons.

 _This is an opportunity. But for what_? The asteroids had responded to the Minbari at both points they had come close to the belt. That could very well mean that the entire belt fielded a continuous ring of armed asteroids. He could use that. He could act as bait for the Minbari to attack, and draw them in to the field. He had no doubt that they had more than enough ships to pierce the belt in one location, but could they fight the entire belt? He could dance through the belt, staying just out of their reach, dragging them through all of the defenses until one or the other was completely destroyed. He very much doubted the Minbari could catch him if he could run past the defenses whilst they had to fight their way through. Certainly, the Minbari could cut into the belt in two places, cutting off his retreat. But he could counter that by spreading out the Lexington and the Midway to different points in the belt. If they spread out, the Minbari would still likely have to face much of the mass of hostile asteroids. They could bleed the Minbari of hundreds, maybe thousands of ships. It wouldn't break them, but it would certainly hurt.

On the other hand, it was certainly starting to look like this system had once been home to a very advanced race. A race which just possibly might still be around. If so, would they appreciate the fact that Sheridan had run the Minbari juggernaut across the bulk of their asteroid defenses? They might very well decide the whole thing was humanity's fault. The fleet could ill afford to make enemies of yet another incredibly advanced alien race.

But what was the other option? Run? Was that possible? They'd have to leave the belt and cut across the inner system, shaving by the star as closely as they could to make the best possible time across the system, past the belts, out through the Kuiper belt, and past the edge of the hyperspace block. Then, jump into hyperspace and escape with the fleet. It might be possible. If the Minbari tried to circumnavigate the belt, or got bogged down trying to break through, it would buy him a lot of time. His ships could accelerate the whole way, while the Minbari would be forced into continuously changing vectors. It just might work. Assuming Gideon came through of course. Far more likely that he wouldn't, in which case, the 'escape' would really just be leading the Minbari right to the civilians, and ensuring all of their deaths.

Just as bad, if the Minbari were smart, and they generally were, they would use another option. If he chose a direct run, left the safety of the belt, then they could just leave the plane of the ecliptic and loop over the belt, coming back down into open space. They would lose a little time but, with their superior acceleration, would have no difficulty overtaking and destroying the human warships.

John supposed he could stay within the asteroid belt and just follow it all the way around to the far side of the system. But that was effectively the same as the stay and fight option. His ships could never stay ahead of the Minbari if they had to dodge asteroids the whole way and the Minbari did not. They might make it a good ways, but eventually the Minbari would mass a force, get ahead of them, and punch a hole in the belt's defenses, effectively cutting off their escape. Even if the Minbari elected not to attack the belt, they could get all the way around it faster, surrounding the whole belt and cutting off any escape. Hell, at that point they could set up a siege and wait for starvation or frustration to force the humans out of the field and into a doomed attack.

Thinking about it, though, it occurred to him that aliens so advanced that they could block of hyperspace wouldn't peg all of their defenses on immobile asteroids. He suspected they had some way of preventing intruders from just bypassing the asteroid belt. Or perhaps there were more hidden defenses deeper into the inner system. It was little more than a hope, but it was _something_.

John looked around at his crew. He had promised these people that escaping the system was part of his plans. And it was. But, realistically, he'd had no hope of actually pulling it off. With these defenses in place, everything changed. The Minbari would be slowed substantially. He could at least provide Gideon the forty-eight hours he had hoped to give him. Hell, he was already well on the way there. The asteroid defenses made it all but certain.

The logic was pretty clear. The smart play was to drag the Minbari into the belt and bleed them there. That could drag days into weeks, possibly even months, depending upon how determined the Minbari were. Realistically, Gideon would need the extra time. And hell, if he bled the Minbari enough, they might finally give up the chase. They might just let the civilians go, or stop searching for them, if Sheridan and his warships were finally destroyed. If he tried to escape, he not only risked destruction during the chase, he risked exposing the location of the fleet, which could be disastrous, even if Gideon had managed to find an exit. The smart play was to drag out a fight, not to run. But, he had promised his people. He had told them there was an escape. That he would at least _try_ to get them out. Didn't he have to honor that promise?

It all came down to whether or not Gideon could pull off an escape with so little time. He had been quite correct in pointing out that such an effort could and should take months. Hoping for it to be done in just days was almost certainly futile. But, just maybe….just maybe there was a way to cover both possibilities. He straightened in his chair and ordered, "Open a comm channel to the Lexington and Midway." Once Lake had given her nod to indicate the channel was open, he continued, "Captains Sinclair and Levitt, you are to cross the inner system under maximum acceleration, to the far end of this asteroid belt. The Nova will rendezvous with you at that location. If we have received the signal from Commander Gideon by that point, we will proceed with the exfiltration. If not, then we dig in, ensconcing ourselves within the asteroid defenses and the remaining nukes we have planted in the belt."

He nodded that he was done, and Lake cut the transmission. "Ensign," he asked, "are you still broadcasting the First Contact package?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Please continue to do so unless otherwise notified. And let me know immediately if we get any kind of a response." _Of course_ , he thought, _the best option would be for these mysterious aliens to get off their lazy butts and deal with the Minbari._  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Minbari Fleet, Valen'Tha - May, 2249**

The Chamber of the Grey Council was dark, lit only by the single spotlight encompassing Shai'Alyt Branmer himself as he walked to the center of the room. Good, Coplann thought to himself. _It will serve to remind him who is in charge_ here. He has much for which to explain. Oddly enough, Branmer was carrying a large satchel, which was certainly not the protocol for a discussion with the Grey Council. "Explain," he said, voice reverberating across the room. As Coplann had not keyed his own spotlight, that voice seemed to come from the darkness itself. _Let Branmer worry over exactly what we want explanations for. Let him spill out whatever excuses he has been working on, so that we may see what guilt he holds._

Apparently he wasn't taking the bait. "Explain? Explain what? I was asked only to come before you. You might recall that I have a battle to run, and let me know what you would like an explanation for. Otherwise we are liable to be here for a very long time."

Irritated with both Branmer and himself, Coplann keyed his spotlight, stepping forward and lowering his hood. "Perhaps, Shai'Alyt Branmer, you could start with explaining the loss of our ships to Shadow weaponry."

"Hidden Shadow defenses fired. Our ships and crews died. I believe that largely covers the explanation. Unless there was something in particular you wanted to know, Satai Coplann?"

Coplann's eyes narrowed in irritation, yet he kept tight control over his voice. "So then, you admit that our force were led headlong into a Shadow ambush."

"Ambush might be overstating the matter. They appear to have been static defenses, saturating the innermost asteroid belt. I did warn that such dangers were likely, and should be taken into account before coming to Z'ha'dum and embarking on this course of events. The Council chose to move ahead anyway. This is the Shadows' core system, after all."

"Yes," Coplann pressed, "but at the end of the last Shadow war, all such defenses were destroyed. Which means these _must_ have been added since then. And that is clear evidence that the Shadows survived and are still present in this region! It would seem that Dukhat may have been right to be concerned. If the Shadows are here, then perhaps the next Shadow War may truly be inevitable.

Another light appeared, pooling around a shorter figure, now lowering her hood. Neither Coplann nor Branmer were surprised that Delenn was choosing to involve herself in this conversation. "We already knew this to be true. Our history, our legends, what little information the Vorlons choose to share with us...all indicated that the Shadows would return. Does this truly surprise you, Satai?"

"It has been a long time, Delenn. Yes, this is not something I was expecting. But it is here now, so it must be dealt with. As we must deal with the humans. And despite neither our history, nor our legends, nor even the Vorlons saying so, it has now become abundantly clear that the humans are Shadow servants."

Branmer spoke up, clearly hesitant, "That determination may be a bit...premature, Satai Coplann."

"How so? Did you not witness the humans leading our ships into the very teeth of the Shadow weaponry, as I did? Now that the humans have linked up with their masters, should we not expect an imminent attack from the Shadows and their minions?"

Still clearly uncertain, Branmer responded, "The humans did indeed lead us towards the asteroids armed with Shadow weaponry. However, we have as yet no evidence that they are in fact in league with the Shadows, or that they were even aware of the location of those weapons. And the weapons themselves appear to be remote, automated platforms. We have been enemies of the Shadows for a thousand years. It is unsurprising that they might react to us and not to the humans. We should be cautious, but I see no reason to suspect an imminent Shadow attack."

"Not in league? What other possible explanation is there? It seems incredibly unlikely that they might lead us right to two seperate weapons platforms by _accident_ ," Coplann noted acidicly.

"But they lead us to _one_ location, not two, Satai...the asteroid belt. If the Shadows or their servants were trying to defend the inner system and their planet, then it would make sense to arm the belt along its entire perimeter. We were likely to run into such weaponry wherever the humans crossed the belt. And they would need to cross the belt to shield themselves from our long range weaponry. After the destruction of our ships, we intercepted signals from the humans aimed towards the weapons asteroids as well as Z'ha'dum itself. Signals they tried to hide from us."

"Clear evidence, then!" Coplann said triumphantly. "The humans speak to their masters!"

"But, Satai," Branmer said quietly, "it was their First Contact package. The same one they sent to us just before they attacked and killed Dukhat. Beyond that, rather than staying in the safety of the asteroids, or head towards Z'ha'dum, they have set course directly across the system in continued flight."

"A trick then. They try to confuse us, so that we will not know of their true allegiance."

"To what end, Satai? We are going to destroy them either way. And if they wanted to hide the presence of the Shadows, then leading us into an attack by Shadow weaponry seems a poor way to do it." He held up his hand to forestall Coplann's objection. "I do not say that the humans are _not_ Shadow servants. I only say that it is too soon to be certain of anything. What it is not too soon to do is make a decision as to our next course of action. Do we chase the humans, try to get in front of them, or just leave in the face of this new Shadow threat?"

It was Delenn who first responded. "Despite the Shadows, this war must end. We cannot leave until the human issue is dealt with."

"I am once again in agreement with Delenn," Coplann added. "Starkiller must die. What are we waiting for? Attack. Chase him down and end this blight on our honor."

"Such an attack would take us into the teeth of Shadow weaponry, the extent of which has yet to be ascertained. Even if we mass hundreds of ships for the assault, there is the potential that it could be quite...bloody."

"Are you afraid, Shai'Alyt Branmer? This is not a trait I would expect to find in our chief war leader. But, if the humans have left the safety of the asteroid belt, the solution would seem to be simple. I am surprised you have not already ordered it Shai'Alyt. Simply pass over or under the belt, and use our superior acceleration to chase down Starkiller in open space."

Branmer chose not to respond to the clear insult thrown at him. Instead, he calmly stated, "Those asteroid guns are certainly the most basic and mundane of potential Shadow defenses. They establish a perimeter, a clear warning for where we are not welcome. But the hyperspace blockage clearly proves that they are capable of much more subtle and powerful defenses. I would be...remiss in my duties if I failed to warn that crossing that perimeter, even if not doing so through the asteroid belt itself, might set off some of those other defenses. I do not think that is wise, outside the bounds of a true Shadow War.

"Then what would you, in your caution, have us do, Shai'Alyt?" Coplann asked with barely concealed scorn.

"We go around. The long way. By circumnavigating the asteroid belt, staying out of the inner system, we should avoid the Shadows' defenses. Despite their shorter path, our greater speed and acceleration will allow many of our ships to arrive on the far side of the system not long after the humans have passed through. If they are truly heading to the far side of the system, perhaps towards the far sides of the asteroid belts, or even the Kuiper belt, then that is likely where they have hidden their Worker vessels. If we push the chase at that point, they will not be able to evade us. We will chase them down and finally finish this."

"And what if they are merely repositioning? What if they do not leave the safety of the inner system which you are granting them?"

"Then we can decide what to do at that point. We will have them surrounded, with nowhere to go, and no options for resupply. We can choose whether to punch in an assault, or merely wait them out. This, I believe, is the correct path. In fact, I have already given the orders, and our forward most ships have begun their run. It is, of course, your right as the Grey to countermand me."

"This seems like a wise course of action," Delenn cut in, attempting to head off the likely explosion from Coplann. "And it was never our intention to challenge your authority here. We merely wished to fully understand."

"Speak for yourself, Delenn. I find a glaring flaw in the Shai'Alyt's reasoning."

"And that would be, Satai Coplann?" Branmer asked calmly.

"Your assumption that the humans have no source of resupply. It seems quite likely, given where we are, that the _Shadows_ are willing to provide them with resources. And we have evidence."

"What evidence?" Delenn asked sharply.

"The trap into which Alyt Denmar fell. Thousands of the humans' dishonorable bombs, all in one location. After all of the bombs Starkiller has used against us, from the fall of Mars, along the entirety of the chase, and even heavily seeded in this system. They simply couldn't have brought that many of the devices with them, and they've had no opportunity or location from which to resupply. They simply wouldn't have brought that many devices from Earth. If they had them then, they should have been used in the defense of their home system. The only reasonable answer is that the Shadows have been supplying them." Coplann smiled triumphantly.

The logic seemed inescapable, and Delenn looked over at Branmer uncertainly. The Shai'Alyt only bowed his head respectfully. Calmly, he said, "a very sound and insightful analysis, Satai Coplann. Unfortunately, it is flawed, as it is based upon two erroneous assumptions."

"And those would be?" Coplann asked darkly.

"Firstly, that anything the humans do is at all reasonable. I believe we have found quite the opposite. Second, that Alyt Denmar was trapped by thousands of the humans' nuclear weapons."

Coplann furrowed his brow in confusion, but it was Delenn who spoke up. "But they were surrounded and trapped. We all saw the sensor readings. We were clearly detecting radiological signals."

Branmer nodded. "Yes, we were. I sent in a wing of Nials to take a closer look. I too wanted to ascertain if the humans had simply brought a massive stockpile of bombs, or if they had somehow been resupplied. This is what I found." So saying, he opened the satchel he had brought in, and extracted a large, clear case.

Coplann immediately recognized the type of case. It was a heavily shielded variety, the kind the Worker caste used for transporting highly radioactive materials like Quantium 40. What Coplann didn't recognize was the object inside. "What is it?"

"It is part of a shattered fuel rod; the kind used in some of the humans' reactors. And this is what our Warriors found at many of the bomb sites. Used fuel canisters. Bits of reactor shielding. Parts of engine bells. Radioactive waste. Anything and everything that was either inherently radioactive or had been exposed to high levels of radiation for long enough that it had _become_ highly radioactive. _That_ is what our sensors were picking up. That is the trap Alyt Denmar fell into. A trick. They weren't surrounded by thousands of bombs. There were barely dozens."

Coplann stared, dumbstruck, at the case and its damning contents. "Radioactive...waste? _Waste_?" Slowly shock turned to anger, then to rage. " _Garbage? The humans are now fighting us...with GARBAGE?!"_ Coplann realized he was bellowing, but found he could not stop. " _Unacceptable! UNACCEPTABLE!_ We must _make_ Starkiller understand his error. _Make_ him regret this actions!"

Branmer tried and failed to keep the amusement off of his face. "So if we should catch up to him, Satai, are you suggesting I should...have a chat with him?"

Coplann spun on him, trying to control his rage. "No. You _destroy_ him. Take whatever route you want. Take as many ships as you deem necessary. But you catch Starkiller, and you make certain there is nothing left of him or his ship but _ash_."

Coplann would long suspect that there was a certain amount of mocking in the Shai'Alyt's parting words, but neither his voice nor his countenance betrayed any such thing. He merely bowed and said, "Si dromo, Satai Coplann. I shall do exactly that."  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Deep below the surface of Z'ha'dum - May, 2249**

It dreamt. Slow, glacial dreams to pass away the centuries. Dreams of ancient glory. Dreams of chaos and blood. Dreams of _Shadows_. But, something was not quite right. The dream and the dreamer were disturbed.

Slowly, reluctantly, the ancient slumber slipped away. Like a great sea it receded, consciousness and thought creeping in to replace it. _Awake_. The ancient being arose, prepared, and emerged from its resting place; a Shadow emerging into the light.

Just beyond was the cause of its awakening. A trio of being waiting respectfully, perhaps fearfully, for its attention. _The servants_ , it thought to itself. Some of the more promising species, but all flawed in some way. It no longer expended the effort to remember the names of their races, much less the individuals. Which were these? Drakh? Streib? Wurt? It mattered little. Perhaps these small races would break through on their path to perfection, but it doubted it. The search for more races which could be strong, which could bear the tides of chaos and war and emerge the stronger for them, that search must continue. As must the debate with the enemy. This time, _this time_ perhaps they would finally put an end to the debate, and show the Vorlons once and for all that is was Chaos, and not Order, which drove perfection.

The servants were each bowing low, and the Shadow took a moment to catalogue the passage of generations and centuries. Realization dawned. _I have been awoken early_. Surprise turned to anger. In a rage, it struck out with one of its forelimbs, shearing the left most of the bowing servants cleanly in half. A pleasing spray of blood spattered the floor, mollifying its anger.

" _Why have you awoken me_?" it asked. To most species, the sound which emerged would have been completely unintelligible; high pitched shrieking, far too rapid to be understood. It was not the mind connection of the Vorlons, nor even the lesser version they attempted to spread amongst the younger races, their 'telepathy.' It was aural speech, but it was the penultimate version of speech. The flow of thought and information was massively compressed for both speed and efficiency. The servants all understood it, but they had both the training and the modifications necessary to do so. Only the language the Shadows used amongst themselves was greater, surpassing the throughput capabilities of many machines.

The two servants trembled, but the one which had been in the center spoke up. "There has been...an incident. We felt your attention was required, great one."

" _Explain_."

In response, the servant touched a nearby control, and a holographic projector sprung to life, displaying an image of hundreds of primitive space vessels. "These vessels recently appeared in the system, and began broadcasting pleas for help. They identified themselves as humans from someplace called the Earth Alliance. We ignored them while we contacted a nearby Drakh fleet. Such primitive vessels were of no interest, so we intended to harvest this fleet for resources. We were detecting hundreds of thousands of lives, so it would have been a valuable acquisition. Before the fleet could arrive, most of these vessels returned to hyperspace, leaving only four in the system itself. Those remaining began emplacing weaponry throughout the system. Those in hyperspace have drawn away from the beacon, and appear to be attempting to explore hyperspace in a most unusual fashion."

" _This is of no interest_ ," it said darkly. Certainly these servants had not awakened it for something so mundane.

The servant hurriedly touched another control. This time the image displayed was familiar. Changed with time, but familiar nonetheless. The Shadow hissed in displeasure while the servant spoke. "Shortly thereafter, a large Minbari fleet approached the system. Additional Minbari fleets approached down every beacon path. Several hundred of their vessels entered the system, with a few thousand more remaining in hyperspace. We assumed it was an invasion, and we contacted every Drakh, Streib, and Wurt asset nearby. But then, something odd happened."

The Shadow was listening carefully, but the slow rate of the servant's speech compared to its own left it plenty of time to think and remember. _The Minbari_. Mindless servants of their ancient foe. And some of their more powerful and combative servants at that. Easily the most powerful to survive the last war. They had fought in hundred of battles during that war, and had been a constant thorn in the side of the Shadows and their allies. They had defeated the servants of chaos, and in so doing and proven themselves superior. And yet, they still refused to see the truth; that despite their slavish devotion to the Vorlons, it was the philosophy of the Shadows which had clearly made them strong.

The Shadow's advanced, efficient brain absorbed and analyzed the data streaming in from the sensors hidden throughout the system. It found itself somehow disappointed by what it found. Even a cursory examination showed that the Minbari had not advanced nearly as much as they should have since last conflict. The ways of the Vorlons had proven their failure once again. Order, peace, stability; subject even the mightiest of species to such a climate, and they would stagnate and falter. The Minbari should have come much farther in the last thousand years.

The Shadows had once hoped the turn the Minbari to their side. They had hoped that the Minbari might prove to be worthy proteges. Perhaps even, eventually, successors. They had proven themselves superior to the likes of the Drakh, Streib, Wurt, and many other servants of the Shadows. But, like those other races, somewhere along the line they had come up short; been found wanting. At some point they had failed to advance.

Simmering with anger, the Shadow was nevertheless perfectly following the servant's dialogue, and perked up at his last words. " _Odd? How?"_

"They began searching, apparently for the humans. And those four ships fought back, using ambush and deceit. These humans have done amazingly well, for beings with such limited technology. Perhaps….they might be useful. We were contemplating if there was any way to aid them, when their battle drew the Minbari into the automated asteroid defenses. Several Minbari warships were destroyed. Which is when we decided to awaken you."

These words grabbed the Shadow's attention. These primitives had bested the Minbari? Intriguing. The Shadow flitted through the data stream, observing, contemplating. Indeed, this insignificant skirmish should have been easily won by the Minbari. Instead, they had suffered greater losses than imaginable under the circumstances. These primitives… these humans… their capabilities were far below those of the Minbari. They were outnumbered and outgunned. They should have been burned from the skies in moments. Intriguing. This race had potential. They might prove useful; perhaps eventually even become the new champions for the philosophy of the Shadows, just as the Minbari were the champion for the Vorlons.

This required discussion with others of its kind, but its instincts on this were never wrong. The humans had a will to survive, perhaps even greater than that of the Minbari. Aiding them might prove advantageous in the argument. But, why did the Minbari come in such numbers in the first place? Surely not just to smite these insignificant humans. Perhaps there was something more going on here, but either way, the Minbari presence could not be tolerated.

The Shadow regarded its servants and intoned, " _You were correct to do so. The Minbari will now believe that we are present again. They will take this as evidence to the Vorlons, who may begin working actively against us. This is unacceptable_." The Shadow thought for a bare moment, then continued its orders. " _Organize the reinforcements you are bringing in. We shall cut off the Minbari fleets, both in the system and in hyperspace, preventing their escape. I shall awaken my brethren and all the available warships. We will be outnumbered, but with our static defenses and the reinforcements you have summoned, the Minbari cannot hope to stand against us for long. We will protect the humans if possible. Prepare for battle!"_

Perhaps this new species could rise to become champions if properly directed. Just a small push, and they could perhaps be counted on to even lead or replace the current crop of servants. The circumstances would need to be right, but the possibilities were intriguing. However, that was well into the future, and current circumstances must first be dealt with. The servant was again intruding upon his thoughts.

"My Lord," the servant interrupted nervously, drawing a hiss of displeasure from the Shadow, "there is one thing more you must see. It didn't show up on any of our own sensors. It barely registered on your own system defense sensors. But, once we realized something was there, focusing the sensors in that region revealed it." He touched a final control, and the image changed to reveal a lone vessel, huddled next to a slightly larger block of ice deep in the outer system, near the inner edge of the Oort Cloud. The vessel's sleek curves and mottled coloring were instantly recognizable. The uninspired and insipid design, so inimical to the Shadows' own, grated on the Shadow as it looked once more upon a class of vessel that was almost entirely unchanged in ten thousand years.

The Shadow shrieked, outraged. In its agitation, it felt the need to again strike out. The right most servant made a tempting target. Picking up on the dark thoughts, the servants huddled backwards, terrified. The Shadow elected not to indulge in further slaughter, refusing to further waste important resources. Instead, it followed them, seething. " _Trick! Trap! The Vorlons cheat!"_ It paused briefly, controlling its agitation, then said, " _There can be only one reason the Vorlons are here. They want us to destroy the Minbari fleet. They would call it proof we are active, attacking their disciples, and they would launch the war while they are prepared, and we are not."_

"Then, what do we do?"

" _Nothing. We do not attack the Minbari, or the Vorlon ship. For now, we wait and watch. Leave the automated defenses active. They can at least bleed the Minbari_." It thought for another moment. " _Stop your fleets from entering the system, but keep them nearby. I shall still awaken our forces. Should the Vorlons choose to move against us anyway, we shall drown them in blood_."

"And the humans?"

" _We cannot help them, no matter how promising they may be. Should they somehow survive, we can make use of them. But for now, they are on their own."_


	19. Chapter 18 - All Alone in the Night

Chapter 18 - All Alone In the Night

 **Hyperspace, near Z'ha'dum - Fourth Line of Exploration, Shuttle Rokai - May, 2249**

"Come on, you stupid thing!" Catherine Sakai snapped in frustration, smacking the panel in front of her in annoyance. Despite her outburst, Catherine was irritated at neither the panel nor the Rokai itself. In fact, she was growing rather fond of the surprisingly capable Drazi shuttle. No, what she was really reacting to was the growing sense of unease and despair, which was almost certainly infecting nearly all of the professional military and civilian exploration personnel. The sense that their work might be in vain, that at any moment they might be discovered by the Minbari. The knowledge that, given how far their exploration had come, they _should_ have found something by now. The very real fear that their task might very well be hopeless. This was compounded with the understanding that, if only Gideon's eureka moment had come sooner, if it had been tried in an earlier system, one not so close to the Rim, they would very likely have easily found a way out. A place to hide from the Minbari. Perhaps a new home.

Instead, all they had was an unending search, with the steadily dawning understanding that their efforts were all in vain. Catherine wondered if that fear was more or less severe for all of the clueless civilians pressed into the role of neophyte explorers. She hoped it was less. She prayed that they could hang onto their hopes. It was all they had left, in whatever time remained before the Minbari noticed them. That and the task at hand. This monumental exploration effort, so unlike anything which had ever been tried before.

A search which, after a massive push deep into hyperspace, was now steadily falling apart. All but two of the lines of advance had completely dead ended, and branches on those lines were dying left and right. Even the oh so promising third line, which she had been working, had finally closed off, forcing her to again relocate to the fourth line. Perhaps that wasn't the worst thing, as it freed up ships desperately needed to maintain the fragile and ever lengthening hyperspace chains supporting those lines. Both the first and the fourth line were now well over a million klicks along their primary branches, with the beacon chains thinned out to one ship per link along vast swaths of those chains. Additionally, the ships were now spaced out to nearly two thousand klicks apart. They were running out of ships, and sooner or later it was going to lead to disaster. It already almost had.

The Eratosthenes, still steadily pushing ahead at the tip of the first line, had nearly been lost to a slow death in hyperspace when that line had snapped near its base. It would have taken nearly half the fleet with it. The loss of those people and resources would have almost certainly spelled the doom of the remainder of the fleet. And it all would have been entirely unavoidable, if not for the quick thinking of a civilian captain who, noticing the loss of return signal, had coordinated to quickly expand his own and the two or three preceding interval distances to almost three thousand klicks. They rushed ahead, boosting their transmission and reception to max levels. Despite that precaution, they still each almost lost contact several times. But, through luck or divine intervention, they caught up to the lost ships, mending the severed chain and saving humanity in the process. At which point, the chain nearly snapped again but, after a couple of very tense hours, they managed to reel in the distances and stabilize the entire line of advance.

So far as Catherine knew, no one had even noted that Captain's name, or which ship it had been. A galling oversight, to add to everything else. And now, this.

Catherine tweaked her forward sensors, looking for a way ahead. She was once again at the tip of the spear; the furthest advance of the entire line of exploration. Given how fast the branches had been closing off, she might very well be on the _last_ open avenue of this line. And she was looking at an unexpected pair of gravity shears, meeting at very nearly a right angle, dead ahead. They neatly cut off the line of advance, every bit as definitively as a locked door.

She pushed the Rokai forward, panning her sensors back and forth, searching for a way around or through. She had already closed out two lines of exploration. She had no desire to shut down a third. But, there was simply no opening to be found. No way ahead that did not end in destruction. _Frag_! She pushed closer still, redoubling her efforts.

To no avail. There simply _was_ no way around. She took a deep breath, rather than smack the panel again. "Shuttle Rokai to Exploration Control. I've hit a dead end here. Heading back."

The response was several long seconds in coming, and Catherine fancied she could _hear_ the bitter disappointment on the other end. "Shuttle Rokai, this is Exploration Control. Acknowledged. Make your way back to exploration line one. We will provide further instruction upon your arrival."

"Affirmative. Shuttle Rokai, out." She took another deep breath, initiated the steps to recall her sensor drone, then eased in the throttle, backing the shuttle away from the grav shears before turning about to head down the line.

Or, at least, she tried to. The Rokai shuddered, but did not move. "...the hell?" she muttered to herself, scanning the sensors and system status displays.

It was the sensor drone she had been running. She had gotten too close, and had drifted into the outer edges of the grav shear. It was tugging hard at the tether she'd been reeling it in with, beginning to pull away.

"Like hell you will," she groused. They were down below ten percent stocks of the drones, last she had checked. Given how long ago that was, they were probably below five percent now. She wasn't about to lose another. Dialing up the tether's tension level to maximum, she steadily increased the output on her thrusters. The sensors told her she was moving...in the wrong direction.

"Frag it," she snapped, and firewalled the thrusters. The Rokai began to shudder, but her direction was not reversed. If anything, it was increasing. The grav shear well and truly had a hold of the drone, and it was _not_ letting go. "Frag," she cursed again, reaching to disconnect the tether. Before she could do so, it snapped, the released drone disappearing into the grav shear. The released tension jerked the Rokai hard, slamming her hard against her restraints.

Her head was fuzzy. Perhaps she had even blacked out for a few seconds. Either way, she took a moment regathering her bearing. Which was why it took as long as it did for her to realize the Rokai was still shuddering. Reviewing the appropriate displays, the horrifying truth became apparent. She had taken too long to decide on releasing the drone. The Rokai had gotten too close, and now was mired in the gravitational gradient at the outskirts of the shear. And she was being pulled deeper.

"Oh frag, oh frag, oh frag," she muttered frantically to herself. She disabled the safety protocols on the engines and took the reactors and thrusters to one hundred and eighteen percent. The engines wailed, vibrating the ship harshly on top of the now severe shuddering. Still, she was being drawn deeper, and it was accelerating, faster and faster. The engines had no more to give. She was going in. There was nothing she could do about it. "Oh God," she whispered, just before impact.

And then the Rokai hit, hard. The shuttle lurched violently and Catherine screamed in terror. There was no more control, and the shuttle flipped and cartwheeled chaotically. The engines continued to scream, and now the very bones of the Rokai groaned alarmingly, ready to shatter under the insane pressures. Warning lights flashed as alarms wailed for her attention. The g-forces in the cabin fluctuated wildly in every direction. Spacers' bulbs and various pieces of equipment, most of which _had_ been properly dogged down, hurtled dangerously across the cabin. She instinctively threw up her arms to protect her face, and continued to scream.

It took her a moment to realize that the shuddering and grav fluctuations had stopped. Still panting with terror, she lowered her arms and took in the flight display. The Rokai had managed to escape the grav shear, she wasn't quite sure how, and was now charging away. The engines were still screaming at one hundred and eighteen percent. It took her another long moment, longer than she would have liked, to collect her wits and reduce power to the engines, turning the ship to arrest her momentum.

 _Better report what happened._ She opened a channel and moved to aim the directional broadcast at the next ship up the chain. That's when she finally realized the truth. The Rokai was no longer receiving the signal from her anchor vessel. She had lost contact, been cut off. _Oh, shit_! She spun her sensors frantically across the entire panorama of hyperspace. She had no idea if she was even pointed in the right direction, so she needed to check everywhere. Nothing.

Once again becoming desperate, she switched the comm to an omnidirectional broadcast. "Shuttle Rokai to Exploration Control." There was no response. "Shuttle Rokai to any ship, please respond." Still nothing. Rolling the dial to maximum output, she hesitated for just a second. _I've got to be more than far enough away. The Minbari can't possibly pick up a thing_. She took a deep breath, trying to gain control of her far too rapid panting. "This is Shuttle Rokai to any ship. I have lost signal lock and require assistance. Please respond." Silence.

She thought for a moment of using the tachyon comms, desperate to hear a human voice. But, that would be picked up by the Minbari, and might well bring them down on the fleet. _Get ahold of yourself Catherine. THINK!_

She began reviewing the sensor feeds for more than just the signal from her anchor vessel, trying to get some idea of where she was. That task should be hopeless in hyperspace, but she needed to do _something_. At least there was some topography here. There were the two grav shears, meeting at their roughly ninety degree angle. _Wait...that's the_ wrong _right angle._ It was, in fact, the inverse of the angle she had been looking at before.

 _I didn't escape the grav shear. I was spit out the far side._ Which meant she was well and truly fragged. The fingers of panic began pulling at the fringes of her mind, but she tamped them down on sheer willpower. _There's got to be something_ , she thought desperately. It couldn't end like this.

And then, something else the sensors were registering finally dawned on her. Something wrong. Something that shouldn't be there. She would never have noticed it, if she hadn't opened up the sensors wide. It wasn't something the sensors were programmed to look for.

 _What the hell? That's...that's a_ beacon. _That can't be right._ And yet, hope surged. It was all wrong. It shouldn't be out here. She checked the frequency against the registry of known beacons, those on the EA catalog, and those that had come with the Abbai charts. It didn't match _any_ of them. Hell, that frequency was in entirely the wrong part of the spectrum!

That frequency was shaky, and the signal strength fluctuated oddly, but remained solid enough for all of that. There was no mistaking it. Nothing but a beacon could pierce the murk of hyperspace like that. It was strong enough, steady enough, _real_ enough to lead the fleet down it.

Possibilities spun through Catherine's mind. Where had it come from? Some long disconnected and lost part of the beacon network? An entirely separate network built and maintained by unknown species? Did it matter? This beacon could mean salvation for the fleet...for the entire human race.

She slowly returned her attention to the grav shears. In order to use the beacon, first the fleet would have to know it was there. They might be looking for her right now, but they would never think to risk going _through_ a grav shear. And there was no way her EM signals would get through to them. The Tachyon comms would work, but the fleet probably wouldn't even reach the beacon if she tipped off the Minbari in that way.

Gritting her teeth, she returned to studying the grav shears. They looked a bit different from this side. _There_. Directly between the two shears, at the apex where they met, was a small gap. A calm bit of space that would take her most of the way through and it was large enough for the Rokai to fit in. But it didn't go all the way through. She could dive in, but she'd end up tangled up right back in those same gravitational gradients; and if she was lucky enough not to be destroyed, she'd just get shot back out on this side.

 _Unless_ , she thought, _I was going fast enough that the grav shear didn't have time to stop me_. Her mind quailed at the recklessness of the thought. The very idea was _insane_. It was unthinkable. And so, she promptly stopped thinking about it, and backed up the Rokai so she had room to get a good solid run.

 _This is suicide_ , part of her cried out, in the depths of her subconscious.

 _Staying put is suicide_ , another part of her answered.

 _If I'm going to die_ , the core of her personality responded, _at least I'll die trying._

Lieutenant Catherine Sakai let out a half mad laugh and redlined her engines, diving for the tiny speck of the opening.  
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 **Z'ha'dum - EAS Nova - May, 2249**

"Coming up on Point Bingo, in sixty seconds," Lieutenant Commander Takashima advised. The tension on the bridge went up another few notches.

"Acknowledged," Sheridan said calmly, giving Laurel a short nod. His insides were churning, but a flag officer wasn't allowed to show the kind of nerves that a mere mortal enlisted person might be familiar with. And so, he kept up his customary stoic facade, despite a burning desire to leap up and begin pacing manically about the bridge.

As the Nova, Midway, and Lexington had raced at maximum acceleration across the inner solar system, back through the asteroid belt, and out the far side; Sheridan had his navigators carefully calculating where exactly point Bingo lay. It was the point at which, should they elect to turn over and reverse course, they would still have time to return to the safety of the belt before the Minbari fell upon them.

Of course, that calculation had required knowing exactly where the Minbari forces were, and when they would complete their circumnavigation of the belt. That was a tricky business, given . Minbari stealth systems. Fortunately, the Minbari had been pushing their engines hard during their race around the belt, which had degraded their stealth a bit. Moving at speeds that did not allow simple gravity to drag them around the arc, their path had required constant acceleration and vector change.

It hadn't helped when a group of several to a dozen war cruisers had cut a little too close to the belt, and were carved to ribbons in the process. _That_ event had been plenty clear to their sensors. It also had the added bonus of forcing the Minbari to increase their safety distance from the belt, slowing them further.

The Minbari vessels were significantly faster than their human counterparts. But, between their late start to the race and the wide berth they were forced to give the belt, the human crafts had a big advantage. That had allowed Sheridan to take a massive step past the belt, while still retaining the option of returning and using the alien defenses to grind down the Minbari.

But, time was now up, and the decision could no longer be put off. First, though, he needed to make it official. "Lieutenant Jones, has there been any sign of signal from Commander Gideon." That signal was a weak tachyonic pulse, designed to look natural rather than artificial. If Minbari sensors should happen to pick it up it should mostly look like random background tachyonic radiation. It was far too weak even to be noticed by the standard comm equipment, which was he was asking Sensors rather than Comms.

Everyone on the bridge already knew the answer. Regardless, the tension increased perceptibly for a moment until, without turning his head, Jonesy stated, "No, Commodore. We have not."

Sheridan nodded slowly, a bit of theater for those watching. _Oh well, it really was worth a shot, but the odds were probably a thousand to one. You can't roll the hard six every time._ Had the signal arrived, they would have run hard for the Kuiper Belt, and hope get there before the pursuing Minbari, attempting to lose them in that maze of rubble. If they could break contact, they could slip into hyperspace and take whatever escape route Gideon had arranged before the Minbari could follow them. Or, if they couldn't break contact, then the Nova could turn for a final stand against the Minbari, buying the Lexington and Midway time to escape. But, it seemed that hope had vanished.

"Open a channel to the Midway and Lexington," he commanded. "Advise Captains Sinclair and Levitt to patch the broadcast through to their crews. Let's pipe in our own as well." Once the channel was opened he spoke in his most serious tone. "This is Commodore Sheridan to all officers and crew of this task force. There has been no signal from the Eratosthenes, which means they have yet to find a way out for our civilian fleet. It falls upon our shoulders to buy them more time. As of now, we are turning about and returning to the asteroid belt. We will use the defenses therein as a force multiplier and fight the Minbari as hard and for as long as we are able. The Japanese once had a saying. 'Death is lighter than a feather, but duty is heavier than a mountain.' We shall do our duty, secure in the knowledge that our sacrifice will buy our civilians...our species...a chance for survival. That is…"

"Commodore!" Jonesy suddenly shouted. This alone drew Sheridan's ire, but then the Lieutenant actually took his eyes off of his panel, and fully turned around in his seat. His face, far more pallid than usual, bore a look of profound uncertainty.

Sheridan waved for the open channel to be cut. "Lieutenant? Did you perhaps notice that I was addressing the fleet? Was there something you felt the need to tell everyone?"

"Sir...sensors confirm…" He took a shallow breath, then plunged ahead. "Prearranged signal from the Eratosthenes detected. We….they...have a path out." He seemed ready to say more, but then stopped.

 _Well, that certainly changes things._ "Thank you, Jonesy," Sheridan said with a nod, allowing the officer to turn back to his station. He unbuckled and stood, thinking furiously, using a hand to remain anchored to his seat. A Flag Officer couldn't afford to appear nonplussed, so John fastidiously smoothed and adjusted his uniform, using the act to buy himself some time.

Brushing an imaginary spec of dust off of his sleeve, he let go of the instinctual irritation towards Gideon's slight tardiness. The man had pulled off a miracle. But, could Sheridan take advantage of it? He reviewed the plots and known positions, vectors, and accelerations of the Minbari fleet, furiously double checking the math in his head. He wasn't a genius at it, but a good officer needed to be able to calculate accelerations and time progression in his head. _Unless we're very lucky, at least some of their ships will catch us before we can get to the cover of the Kuiper._

The smart move, once again, was to dive for the asteroid belt and fight it out. Buy time for the civilians to get away. He had promised to try to get his people out of this system. And he _had_ tried. But the numbers just didn't quite work out. If they ran, they would all die before they got to cover and the opportunity to jump out to hyperspace.

Then again, perhaps not _all_. Responsibility and new course of action thundered through his head. It brought hope, laden with bitterness. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best he could do to fulfill his final promise. Clearing his throat, he called out, "All hands, prepare for action. Lieutenant Commander Takashima, please relay to Captains Sinclair and Levitt that we will _not_ be coming about, and will instead make maximum acceleration for our point of exfiltration."

"Aye, Sir."

"Conn, the Nova will go to ninety percent acceleration until such time as we have fallen one million kilometers behind the Midway and Lexington. At which point, you will reinstate maximum acceleration."

The bridge went dead silent. Several pairs of eyes were drawn inexorably to him. He provided an explanation they deserved to hear. "The forward most elements of the Minbari chase are going to catch us. There is nothing to be done about this. Only the Nova stands any chance of slowing them down enough to allow the Midway and the Lex to escape. I will not lie to you. The odds of the Nova surviving this duty and escaping are extremely low. We have come full circle, back to the duty position we held when first this fleet departed Mars. We are the sacrifice play, allowing our brothers and sisters the chance to escape. But...there is always hope. I know you will do your duty, and I could not be more proud."

Spines stiffened once again, and the officers returned to their work. Laurel cleared her throat. "Commodore, Captains Sinclair and Levitt acknowledge their orders."

"Good. Now, I have two more. First, order those ships to launch all of their fighters, and have them stage off of the Nova. Black Omega as well. Quite a few of those Minbari ships are going to get into range to launch their Nials. If we want to actually get the chance to slow down the Minbari capital ships, first we're going to need every Starfury we've got to hold back the tidal wave of Minbari fighters."

"Yes, Commodore. And the second?"

"Have Captain Sinclair contact me in my quarters in five minutes. I'll have some final words for him, before I pass over command of the fleet."  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Minbari Fleet, Ingata - May, 2249**

Shai'Alyt Branmer raised his eyebrows in surprise, as sensors revealed the trio of human vessels continuing to head further towards the outer system. Branmer had assumed that they would turn about and dive back into the asteroid field just ahead of the arriving Minbari warships; an attempt to bait them into a precipitous move into the powerful defenses waiting there. But, the humans had now passed the point of no return. Looking over at his protege, he asked, "What do you suppose that is all about, Neroon?"

Neroon produced a small smile. "It would appear that their doom is finally registering upon them. The humans are finally panicking."

"Even Starkiller?"

"Yes!" Neroon hissed in delight. "In the end, even the mighty Starkiller proves to be no more than just a human."

"A human who has lead us to underestimate him on many occasions. To our sorrow. Do you not think he might be doing so again?"

"To what end, Shai'Alyt? His smartest move was to remain in the asteroid belt and force us to dig him out. This choice to head out system has now thrown that option away. Should they reverse course, we will be able to intercept his ships before they can get back to the inner asteroid belt. But we will also be able to intercept them before they can reach the cover of the Kuiper Belt. We will destroy them in open space, where they have nowhere to hide."

"Just so, Neroon. But do you see how their dreadnought is slowly falling behind the smaller vessels? I believe he means to stall us. To allow the other two vessels time to make good their escape."

"It will not work. But, even if it did, it would buy them very little time. They still have nowhere to which to escape. They run like vermin, just looking to take one more breath."

Branmer ignored Neroon's vehemence. "And why do you suppose they are heading to the outer system anyway?"

Neroon looked thoughtful. "Perhaps that is where their Workers are hiding. Or, perhaps, they hope to move past the hyperspace blockage and transition out of the system. It will do them no good. Not with our fleet sitting on the beacon."

Branmer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But perhaps we should also take a more active role. Signal the fleet in hyperspace. Have some scouts spread out from the beacon so we spot them if they do make transition. So they can not just hide in the hyperspace murk." Looking up at the massive tactical hologram covering the ceiling, he continued to ponder the current situation. Making a decision, he said, "It would also be better if we could ensure the destruction of all three ships before they get to the Kuiper belt. Prepare for fighter operations from all ships which can get into range. We will use the Nials to pin them down, and then we will finish them off with our warcruisers."

"An excellent plan, Shai'Alyt. Anything else?"

Branmer hesitated a moment, then said, "Ensure all ships are operating in at least wing or squadron strength formations. Even if it slows us down. We cannot forget where we are. Static defenses may not be the only dangers the Shadows pose here."

 _That_ got Neroon's attention. "Is there something in particular we should prepare for, Shai'Alyt?"

Sighing, Branmer shook his head. "No. Not really. I just have the oddest sensation...like we're being watched."  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Approaching the Kuiper Belt, Delta Squadron - May, 2249**

"Break left!" came Susan's shout, but Ironheart was already doing so, well in advance, telepathically aware of exactly where the Minbari was and when he would fire. Green light speared past, mere meters from his cockpit. Jason's return fire did not miss, and after a couple of seconds, caved in the resilient Minbari fighter.

"Delta 2, take the trailer," he called back to her, as the Minbari's remaining wingman angled in for the kill, sliding right into Jason's six o'clock. Susan was there, already firing at the rapidly approaching fighter. She didn't land a single hit on its nimbly dodging form. _Damn. She's really off today. Too much time out of the cockpit, I guess._ But Ironheart didn't have time to worry about his wingman. The Minbari was now in position, and had Jason completely dead to rights.

Death beckoned, and for the tiniest fraction of a second, Ironheart welcomed it. The release from worry and responsibility. The end of pain. But, he had a duty to attend to. Not that it mattered. No one else was in a position to stop the Nial, and from his current position, his Starfury simply didn't have the acceleration or maneuverability to evade the killing shot. In his mind, Ironheart could feel the Minbari Warrior already beginning to squeeze his firing controls. There was nothing to be done.

Nothing, _except_...instead of just listening in on the Minbari's mind, Jason clamped down on it. The attempt to fire was arrested. The Minbari didn't have time to fight. He barely had time to register surprise, for Ironheart was already whipping his Starfury about. A pair of seconds later, his pulse cannon fire shattered the Minbari vessel and killed the pilot, his finger still locked on his fire control.

Ironheart's mind snapped back into the confines of his own skull. There was cheering on the comms. That had been the last of the Minbari fighters. At least, of this wave. There would assuredly be more. And they had already lost so many pilots.

The attacks had begun little more than a couple of hours ago, as some of the Minbari ships had drawn close enough to launch their fighters. Fortunately, they had not waited for even more ships to draw near, and amass an overwhelming wave of fighters. Instead, as any given group of ships had drawn close enough for fighters, with limited fuel and acceleration capabilities, to overtake the human ships, they had launched immediately. It was an ill advised attempt to slow the human ships and ensure that none of them made it to the safety of the Kuiper Belt. What it had done instead was given Ironheart and the other squadron commanders a chance to take on and engage smaller concentrations of the technologically superior Minbari fighters. It had given them the chance to survive, and they had done so. The cost had been high, and some attacks had indeed made it through to the warships. But, those ships had survived, and were still under maximum acceleration. Just one or two more waves, and then it would be the Nova's turn, as the first group of Minbari capital ships drew into range. That would almost certainly mean the Nova's destruction. But, if it could just delay those ships by a bit, and if there were enough fighters left to stall a couple _more_ waves of Nials, then the Lexington and the Midway might be able to lose themselves in the Belt. And just possibly make it far enough out to jump into hyperspace and make use of whatever exit Commander Gideon had found.

"Form up the squadron," he croaked. His throat was incredibly dry. "Try to relax for a bit before the next wave gets here. There wasn't much of the squadron left. Instead of an oversized combined squadron, they were down to a just under full strength standard size squadron. Instead of worrying over that, Jason decided to take his own advice. He drew deeply from the water straw to clear this throat, and then sagged back into his seat. Exhaustion washed over him, as well as pain. The migraine he had been fighting all day had redoubled, thanks to all of the telepathic exertion. His mental reserves were even more exhausted than his physical ones.

He only had a couple of mild painkillers, which wouldn't really cut it. He took them, then supplemented them with another half dozen of the telepathy enhancers. It couldn't hurt. Hell, it might even help. It didn't really feel like it though, but maybe that was just the exhaustion. He'd need to deal with that. The next wave of Minbari fighters was drawing ever nearer. He had some stimulants, meant to deal with exactly the kind of pilot exhaustion he was dealing with. Most of the other pilots were probably tapping into theirs as well. He took...well, probably more than he should have. And then a few more telepathy enhancers, to wash them down. He was starting to run low on those.

His Starfury shook around him. The comm channel crackled. "Delta 9 to squad," came a cautious female voice. Ironheart was too tired to remember the owner's name. "Did you guys just feel…"

"This is Delta 13. Yeah, it felt like some kind of...turbulence." The young male voice of the responder was somehow still chipper. Ironheart pegged it as Ensign Harper, who had just made it through pilot training and into the squadron. He was kind of surprised the man was still alive.

"Turbulence in vacuum?" Delta 9 queried back.

Ironheart opened his comms. "This is Delta Leader. There's a lot of debris from the Minbari and our own ships floating around out here. We probably just passed through a concentration of it. Worry about the next batch of Minbari, not some errant buffeting. They'll be here shortly."  
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 **Hyperspace, near Z'ha'dum - First Line of Exploration, Shuttle Rokai - May, 2249**

" _Amazing job, Lieutenant Sakai!"_ Lieutenant Catherine Sakai falsettoed to herself.

"Thank you, Ma'am," she responded to herself.

" _Truly, Lieutenant. Your accomplishment has almost certainly prevented the extinction of the human race!"_

"That really means a lot, coming from you, Commander Kathway." Catherine snorted. "But what's my reward? A beer? A chance to get my ass out of this tin can?"

She resumed her falsetto. " _Now hustle back to Line one. You have more experience than anyone in breaking down a line of exploration, and we've got civilians everywhere."_ She began muttering to herself, more irritated and grumpy from exhaustion than truly angry. She did understand the necessity of her newest orders. Still, that didn't prevent her from casting a dark glare at the Eratosthenes, wherein Lieutenant Commander Janice Kathway was still coordinating the evacuation of Line one, as it thundered past on its way to the escape route she had found. It was surrounded by streams of civilian ships, pouring out of the the various branch explorations that had been opened up along the way.

Catherine's job, and that of several others who had similarly been spearheading the points of advance, was to ensure that none of the civilians got left behind. That the lines rolled themselves back, and no one got forgotten or disconnected in the general rush to get the heck out of dodge. _Back to herding cats_ , she thought to herself.

But it was an important job. And she was extremely well suited to it. She had already closed down a couple of the smaller branches, and had just been ordered down one of the larger ones, where a bit of chaos was erupting, and some of the civilians were pulling out too fast, threatening to strand those behind them.

She spent the next hour cruising up the line, and in and out of various sub-branches. She calmed skittish civilian captains and pilots, slowed and stabilized the general rate of evacuation, and began to reduce the distances between ships, to ensure no one lost signal lock. And, in the end, she placed the Rokai at the very end of the line. If she was the last one out, then no one could be left behind.

Or, at least, she thought she was at the end. But, as she began to reverse course to head back down the line, her sensors pinged. They had detected an anomaly. Catherine, out of sheer habit, focused the sensors in tight. It was a ship. _What the frag?_ How had she missed that? It wasn't broadcasting a signal, and distance meant that hyperspace was all but obscuring it. It sat dead in hyperspace. _Engine distress?_

For a moment, she worried that it might be Minbari. But, if the Minbari had been that close, they would surely have detected the fleet and dropped on them like a pack of vicious predators. Besides, the Minbari were in the opposite direction. Which meant is must be a member of the fleet.

She keyed her comms. "Rokai to unknown vessel, you're falling behind." No response. "Rokai to unknown vessel, do you require assistance." Still no response, and still no movement. She killed the comms and cursed. It must have been experiencing a general power failure. That called for a tug, but in the chaos of the evacuation, it would take quite a while to get one here. That would slow the evacuation. Besides, if that ship was experiencing general power failure, they might not have the remaining life support to wait for a tug.

Fortunately, the ever useful Rokai was capable of acting as a tug in an emergency. She checked the next ship up the line. It wasn't too far off, and its locator signal was coming through strong. She had time. She opened up comms again, and sent a brief message up the chain to the Eratosthenes, advising them of the ship in need and her rescue plan. She received and acknowledgement from a _very_ harried sounding comms officer.

Signing off, Catherine began to chuckle. At least she wasn't in _that_ job. This one was bad enough. _And it never ends._ Sighing to herself, she turned the Rokai about, and set off to drag one more civilian ship's fat out of the fire.  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Edge of the Kuiper Belt, Delta Squadron - May, 2249**

The Minbari had finally learned their lesson. They had held back the next wave of fighters until enough ships were in range to launch to make it truly overwhelming. There were bogeys like fireflies all over the sky. Delta shattered like glass. All of the squadrons did. Unit cohesion was nonexistent. The best that could be hoped for was that wingmen could manage to stick together, as individual furballs broke out everywhere.

But, the delay had given the humans just enough time, as the task force moved ever closer to shelter in the Kuiper Belt. It was time for the Nova to engage the Minbari, and the call went out. "Commodore Sheridan to all Starfuries. You have accomplished your objective. If possible, disengage and make your way to the Midway or Lexington. I cannot express how proud I am of each and every one of you. You've paid a high price, but it won't in vain. Now, get yourselves to safety. Sheridan out."

As the Nova began to come about in the distance, the Starfurys attempted to disengage. To make their way back to the hangars of the Midway and Lexington. To escape and to live. The Minbari were having none of it. They pressed all the harder, attempting to pin down the human fighters and eliminate each and every one.

Lieutenant Jason Ironheart, Delta Squadron Commander, had other ideas. Silently apologizing to Susan in his head, he made the decision to fight a rearguard action. To engage any Minbari, all of the Minbari, which were attempting to stop, attack, and destroy the fleeing human fighters. He and his wingman flew wildly through one furball after another. They sought to engage and distract, rather than destroy. And, slowly, as one Nial after another chose to focus on them rather than their former quarry, they succeeded. In ones and twos, other human pilots successfully disengaged and made a break for their hangars. Jason and Susan, attempting to carry a greater and greater portion of the fight, rapidly fell to the rear.

Jason's mind was on fire, the pain excruciating, but so were his skills. Susan did her best to keep up with him as he spun and wove his nimble fighter through the growing horde of the enemy. He had taken the last of the telepathy enhancers, as well as every emergency stimulant on board. They coursed through his system like a live wire. Something had changed. He could see everything. It was as if his mind had been a seed for his entire life, and now it was blossoming. He could access every mind in range, without even trying. He barely had to look their way, to see what was inside.

"Susan, snap right and fire!" he ordered, feeding her an almost constant stream of directions. She did so, and managed to peg the engine of a Nial in its darting attack. She had hesitated for a fraction of a second, and the delay caused her to miss with several bolts that would have overwhelmed the Nial's armor. She got lucky, though, and the shot hit something vital and delicate in the engine, leading to a chain reaction which destroyed the entire vessel. It was one of her very few kills of the day.

 _Too slow_ , Jason thought, and switched to passing orders to Susan telepathically. He himself was firing almost continually, keeping just enough of an eye on the internal sensors to ensure his weapons didn't overheat. He could tell exactly where each enemy pilot planned to move next. Exactly when and where they planned to fire. Every turn, bank, or adjustment in acceleration he made was designed to place Susan and himself into the right position to evade every enemy shot, while perfectly placing shots of their own to thin out the enemy herd. In the last ten minutes, Jason had equaled and surpassed the kill count from his entire previous career.

It wasn't enough. The enemy coalesced faster than he could possibly burn them out. The safe avenues for evasion, grew fewer and fewer. More and more, the only route to safety allowed no possibility of return fire. The enemy had realized that they faced a particularly dangerous opponent and began to employ skilled tactics of wing and squadron maneuver to bring him down. Tactics which made the most of their advantages in acceleration and durability. Jason finally saw the Minbari fighting machine at its best. At the same time, pain and exhaustion dragged at him.

And then came a moment in which there was no possible avenue for escape. No opening to exploit. Nowhere to go in which bracketing Minbari fire would not burn him and Susan to bits. So he _made_ an opening. Instead of simply reading the Minbari minds, he reached out and touched a couple. And two Minbari pilots hesitated fractionally in firing their weapons...just long enough for Ironheart and Susan to slip the net.

Shouting in triumph, Jason spun and burned down the nearest fighter. Susan attempted to do the same, but though she had been fast enough to exploit the opening he had made in the Minbari net, she missed her shot to take out one of the enemy. _Even telepathic communication is just too slow_ , Jason considered. _I'll have to help her boost her reflexes._ And so he insinuated himself directly into her mind and her nervous system. Relaying orders directly and assisting her nerves and muscles in pulling them off.

With the next pass, they burned down a pair of Nials simultaneously. The enemy continued to swarm, to enclose, to attempt to trap and extinguish them. But Jason and Susan now moved like a single unit. Minbari losses continued to mount. But it _still_ wasn't enough. And, worse, Jason noticed other Minbari fighters, in the distance, bypassing him and giving chase to the other fleeing Starfuries. And still more Nials heading directly for the Nova, whose armament's were not well designed for fighter suppression.

That was unacceptable. Jason pushed against his exhaustion and forced his mind outward. He reached out broadly, touching every enemy pilot in range. _Over here_ , he whispered to their collective subconsciousness. _The real fight is over here._

And they came. They turned from other targets, and came, like moths to a flame. As the number of fighters Jason and Susan were engaging passed a hundred, Ironheart found himself almost constantly engaging Minbari minds, usually several at once. A hesitation on firing, an incorrect application of acceleration, a bank to port instead of starboard. All the while, pushing his own and Susan's bodies to their very limit.

And then, the delayed fire he caused, to allow yet another timely escape for Susan and himself, caught the Nial chasing them directly amidship. The Nial was blown apart. _Well that worked out nicely._ Jason began trying to arrange more of those accidents. He managed to get a couple of friendly fire incidents, a trio of midspace collisions. But he was already tracking so many vectors in space and time, just trying to keep Susan and himself alive and fighting, that trying to create accidental, indirect kills from the Minbari was just too difficult. It spread his concentration too much.

So instead he started creating purposeful, direct kills. One after another, a Minbari would suddenly turn and burn his wingmate from space. Or suddenly turn and ram directly into another. And _still_ it was not enough, as yet another inbound flight of Minbari fighters joined the furball. And so Jason began to reach out through the ever mounting pain in his mind and body, and began to simply burn Minbari minds out of existence.

It took him several moments to notice and then comprehend the strange keening noise coming over comms. Somebody...somebody was screaming. An endless, wailing screech. And then, as he and Susan went through a modified version of the Thach Weave, the truth became apparent. At their closest pass, he got a good look inside her cockpit, and everything became clear. Her mouth was wide open, clearly emitting the wailing sound he was hearing. Blood ran from her nose, her ears, her eyes. Eyes which stared sightlessly into space. Blood which acceleration had drug in zigzagging tracks across her face and onto the inside of her visor. _My God_ , he realized, forgetting everything else, _I've been using her like a puppet_.

And in that moment of distraction, of horror, a trio of Nials burst through and fired directly into the reactor housing of Susan's fighter. It detonated in an impressive display of energy. Jason was forced to shield his eyes for a moment and, when he managed to look again, there was simply no sign of Susan's Starfury.

What there _was_ , was a strange bluish sphere. It was mostly transparent, and pulsing and shimmering with energy. Susan's body floated limp inside. _Am...Am I doing that?_ With a start he detected the faintest pulse of life and thought within her mind. Relief flooded through him, briefly chasing away the pain. That relief was then itself supplanted by a towering wall of rage. _Enough_ he screamed in his mind, and reached out. They were now surrounded by nearly two hundred Minbari fighters. Everyone of those fighters suddenly jerked, as though wires had been pulled by a now returned marionettist. They swung around, lining up like good wooden soldiers. Then, in a crescendo of violence and thunder, every one of those craft paired up with another, and self immolated in a symphony of head-on collisions.

Jason returned his attention to Susan, but had barely a moment before his Starfury was struck directly by the full fury of a Neutron Cannon. The Minbari capital ships had arrived, a Sharlin leading the way. His world flared green, and then he found himself sitting alone in space, still strapped into his seat, floating in a pulsing blue bubble of energy, identical to that which held Susan. Pain seared through his head, and a strange quaking seemed to shake the seat he sat on. He barely noticed, through the pain. Then, another Neutron cannon shot smacked into the bubble. And another. The pain in his head doubled, then quadrupled, seeming to increase exponentially as first one, then multiple Minbari vessels began pounding the strange energy spheres.

Jason screamed, the pain everything, excruciating, unbearable. He didn't know what to do. Something, he knew not what, for surely it was neither rational thought nor instinct, caused him to reach up and grab his head in a tight grip. And then he literally tore himself out of his body. He had stopped becoming. He had _become_.

 _My body is tiny,_ he thought, cupping it in his hand. But no, the body hadn't changed size, _he_ had become enormous. And it wasn't a hand, but a scintillating chorus of energies. He caused his former body to convert itself to energy, and absorbed it into his new form, leaving only the seat behind. He glanced over at Susan. He realized, in a type of detached horror, that in his distraction he had allowed the energy field to dissipated. Her suit was breached, and had vented most of its precious air into space. Susan was dying, freezing and suffocating at the same time. He cupped her in his palm, and somehow drew the rapidly escaping gas molecules back in from the surrounding space, and forced them back into her suit.

Pain lanced through him, as a flurry of Neutron Cannon and Fusion Laser fire slammed into his chest. Enraged, he screamed at the oncoming fleet. His scream emerged from his mouth as a torrent of purple fire. It crossed tens of thousands of kilometers and washed over the oncoming fleet. When it passed, where once there had been nearly thirty Minbari capital ships, there now remained nought but drifting atoms.

And still his anger blazed. Cupping his palms together, a ball of scintillating blue and purple energy formed. He made a throwing motion, and it streaked towards the next, further back, knot of Minbari vessels. It was over twice the size of the previous wave, and well spread out. As the ball crossed several hundred thousand kilometers and passed into the formation, it struck not a single ship. But, upon reaching the center of the enemy wave, it burst, shattering itself into dozens of smaller meteors of energy, each of which descended unerringly onto a Minbari ship. This time, at least chunks of matter were left behind, though none larger than a Minbari head.

The third wave was just over a million kilometers beyond that. Ironheart didn't bother to throw energy at them. He simply reached across the distance and seized the electronic brains of their computers. As their crews shouted, screaming to each other and chaotically tapping and pounding at their useless control systems, all of those vessels turned to converge on a single point in space. The blast was impressive, even at this range.

All the other Minbari were so far back, they wouldn't even have seen or detected him with their systems. He chose to ignore them, and returned his attention to Susan. But it wasn't Susan. With a dawning confusion, he saw that this was Susan's body, but not Susan's mind. It was like some distorted mirror image, a pale copy, far from the real thing. This notSusan was wrong, an abomination. No wonder her fighting skills were so...average. How had he ever been fooled by this...thing. Anger bubbled inside of him. He wouldn't accept notSusan. He clenched his fist, and did... _something_. He wasn't quite certain what. But, when he opened his palm, notSusan was simply gone.

In her place, Susan, the _real_ Susan. Was back. And she was gasping for breath. His lack of concentration had allowed the atmosphere to escape from her suit again. He needed to get her to safety before another mistake left her irrevocably dead.

He looked around. The other Starfuries were gone. The Lexington and Midway had disappeared into the Kuiper belt, perhaps already having transitioned to hyperspace. But there, in the distance, just diving deep into the Kuiper belt, was the Nova.

With a thought, Jason became tiny, holding Susan in his arms, rather than his hand. He closed his eyes and concentrated. When he opened them again, he was in Susan's room aboard the Nova. He laid her gently into her bunk, and then took off her helmet. She was breathing normally. Her eyes fluttered, and then cracked open.

And then bolted open. "What the hell?" she shouted, seeing the strange being of energy standing over her, pulsing with light, energy, and fire. She scrambled backwards in her bunk, and pressed her back against the bulkhead. "Who are you? _What_ are you?"

Sadness washed through him. It was followed by a wave of pain. The room around them...the entire ship...began to shake violently. A moment later, the lights changed, and sirens began to wail, as the ship went to red alert. But, the mind quake died off.

He had done too much, too fast. He had expended _far_ too much energy. His form was no longer stable. Once again, his thoughts were seeming to drag, as pain coursed through this thing which wasn't quite a body.

" _What the hell was that?_ " Susan shouted.

He needed to leave, before an accident or another mind quake killed them all. Destroyed the ship. But...he needed to say goodbye first. He reached out with his mind and grabbed. And in the next minute, Talia and Lyta appeared. And their friend...Tessa something or other...appeared with them.

Why had that happened? Talia and Lyta were in uniform and holding hands. That almost certainly meant that they had been at their station on the bridge. They would have been holding hands as part of a ring of telepaths, combining their minds to track any Minbari which got close enough. He had not brought in the other telepaths whose hands Talia and Lyta had surely been holding. So the physical contact of Tessa's hand on Lyta's shoulder was certainly not the explanation.

Susan gave a strangled squawk as her friends literally materialized out of thin air. Talia, Lyta, and Tessa were all equally shocked, particularly when they noticed him. Tessa and Lyta gasped and backed up to the nearest bulkhead. But, not Talia. She knew who he was. She recognized him.

"Jason? Jason...what happened to you?"

He spoke, not in words, but they all somehow understood him. " _Talia, I have become. I am a danger to you. I must go._ " She was crying. Of _course_ she was crying. All that time together, and he had never adequately told her how he felt, what she meant to him. And now, now it was too late. But, perhaps he could do one last thing for her. _Show_ her how he felt. " _In memory of love, I give you a gift. The only gift I have to give._ "

He reached out and bathed her in his energy, touching her mind, attempting to give her a gift he knew she would love. One which would always make her think of him. He felt a strange tug. And echo from the other women around him. These four ladies...they were connected somehow. They shared a fellowship. A sisterhood. _That_ was why Tessa had been dragged in with Lyta and Talia.

Their minds echoed with what he was doing to Talia, his energy bleeding across to them. He realized that their minds reflected each other. The gift he meant to give...it would be strengthened and reinforced if he gave it to all of them. He spread his hands, and for a moment the room and everyone in it was bathed in light. " _Goodbye, ladies. I will see you again, someday_." As he allowed the light to fade, all four women fell unconscious.

And then the pain struck anew, and the ship lurched and shook violently. In the room around him, the women were hurled against the bulkheads. Bunks were ripped from their anchoring, and footlockers exploded open, hurling their contents across the room.

Pain and exhaustion surged through him. He needed to leave, _now_. Closing his eyes, he pushed, and when he opened them, he was hundreds of millions of kilometers away. Back, deep into the heart of the system. Safely away, far enough that he was no longer a danger to the ship. He was back in his expanded form. With his enhanced eyesight, not at all dependent upon the passage of simple photons, he watched as the Nova tore open a hole into hyperspace and escaped, the image all the more beautiful to his new eyes.

A moment later, the pain and exhaustion redoubled. He had pushed and pushed, doing more and more before this form had stabilized. He was dying. His thoughts began to drag. He no longer had the energy to maintain them. Confusion fogged his mind.

Panic surged through him. He couldn't breathe! He had no lungs, and he was in vacuum, so how could he possibly breathe? And with that thought, he began to flail about, desperate for a breath that wouldn't come. Desperate to pump lungs that weren't there. He looked around desperately, and his eyesight zoomed out, taking in the grand breadth of the galaxy. It was too much. Too much. He began to black out, still flailing about, expending what little energy he had left.

A hand grasped his shoulder... _he had a shoulder!_...and his vision snapped back to that with which he had grown. "Easy Jason, Heart of Iron. I have you."

He was breathing. He was in vacuum, but breathing normally. He had lungs! He looked down and saw that he was back in his original body. _Wait. Somebody just spoke to me_. With some trepidation, he turned. There was a being there. An alien, still clasping his shoulder. "Who…" Somehow he was able to speak...to breathe and speak...despite being in vacuum. "Who are you?"

The alien smiled kindly at him. He had a proud, somewhat leonine face. He wore strange clothing, including a majestic diadem, emblazoned with a sizeable gem in the center of his large forehead. He spoke? "Who am I? Now that is a very _weighted_ question. One wonders if it might not be indicative of your future leanings. But to answer your question, I have had many names. Been called _many_ things. But you, Jason, Heart of Iron, you may call me Lorien."  
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 **Hyperspace, near Z'ha'dum - The Sakai Path, EAS Eratosthenes - May, 2249**

Gideon watched as the Lexington and Midway charged past, on their way up the ladder of ships which led to the hole in the dual gravity shears which Lieutenant Sakai had discovered. The civilians were already calling it the Sakai path, which sounded just fine to him. Of course, the Lieutenant would be insufferable once she got back aboard, but she had more than earned the right.

"Communication from Captain Sinclair," Kathway advised him.

"Send it to my station." A moment later, Jeff Sinclair's face appeared on his personal screen. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"Not much now. I take it this chain of ships leads to our escape route?" At Gideon's nod, he continued. "Amazing work, locating a hyperspace route is so little time."

"It was hardly me, Captain. A great number of people put in a great deal of work. And it was Lieutenant Sakai who actually found the route. You could perhaps thank her in person."

Sinclair offered a small grin. "I may just have to do that. But, as you said, the credit belongs to a great number of people. I look forward to reading your report."

"Captain...what about the Nova?" Matt asked with some trepidation.

"The Minbari got too close for us to escape cleanly. Commodore Sheridan elected to stay behind to fight a delaying action. He told us not to expect him; that it was highly unlikely they would make it out. But, so far as I know, no one has ever made any money betting against the Commodore. Give him an hour. If they don't show up by then, your orders are to pull in the Cutters I see you've got on picket duty, reel in this lifeline you've built, and leave no trace behind. In the meantime, I will be taking the Lexington and the Midway to the head of the class."

"Acknowledged, Sir."

"Sinclair, out."

In the end, they only had to wait about twenty minutes. In the distance, in an eruption of swirling bluish light, a vortex formed and the Nova emerged into hyperspace.

"Open a comm channel to the Nova," he ordered. Shortly, Sheridan appeared on his screen. "Welcome to hyperspace, Sir. I see you made good your escape, once again."

"Wasn't me this time. It was...I'm not sure _what_ it was. I would think I had been dreaming, if I didn't have sensor logs to prove otherwise."

"Commodore?" Gideon asked in confusion.

"It's not every day you run into a spacegod."

"Spacegod, Sir?" Gideon wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"Well, not really, obviously. But some form of hyper evolved alien. Perhaps one of the former inhabitants of this system. An enormous energy humanoid. You probably think I've lost it. Hell, even _I_ think I've lost it. But, aside from sensor logs, it also grabbed three personnel off of our bridge. We're searching the ship right now, in the hopes that it returned them somewhere else. Enough of that, though. Report."

"Yes, Sir. As ordered, we performed a thorough search of local hyperspace, looking for a path outward which would not require us to return to the local beacon. I'll provide a full report later, but in the end Lieutenant Sakai found us a way out. She stumbled into an unknown beacon trail, which is why you don't see any temporary beacons laid out here. The pair of ships you are reading in the distance are the first link in a chain that heads off towards that beacon path. Once we reel in that chain, we'll leave nothing behind to tip the Minbari off as to where we went. We'll have made a clean escape. Depending on where that beacon leads to, we may very well be clear of the Minbari, permanently."

"Well, let's hope so, but don't count on it. Has there been any sign of the Minbari?"

"No, Sir. I've had Commander Locarno and his Cutters acting as a tripwire, and the best passive sensors on the Eratosthenes scanning continuously, and we haven't seen a thing. Obviously hyperspace limits how far we can see, but that affects the Minbari as well. Besides, if they'd seen us they'd _probably_ have dropped on us by now."

"Then let's get out of here, before that changes. Take the Eratosthenes up your chain. The Nova will bring up the rear. Sheridan, out."  
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 **Hyperspace, near Z'ha'dum - Minbari Fleet, The Valen'Tha - May, 2249**

The enormous hologram, filling the ceiling of the Grey Council's meeting chamber, roiled with reddish hues. In the center, nearly obscured by the murk of hyperspace, was the retreating form of the Nova. On the floor below stood the full Council in their customary ring, each member picked out in their own individual circles of light. Each member stood, studying the hologram from beneath raised hoods. At the center of their circle, present only as a hologram, stood the Hiai'sa in command of the scout vessel currently relaying the holographic image they all watched. Next to him stood Shai'Alyt Branmer, also present only in holographic form.

"Hiai'sa Deermer, have you anything else to report?" Came a disembodied female voice. It was obviously from one of the nine Satai, but Deermer could not tell which one.

She bowed deeply, turning slightly as she did so, so as to include as many of the surrounding Council as possible. "No Satais. Nothing more, save that the human craft are moving off rapidly. If we are to follow, it must be now."

Branmer nodded. "Excellent work, Hiai'sa. Now, disconnect and await the instructions of the Council. Deermer said no more. She merely gave another shallow bow, and then her hologram winked out of existence.

Once she was gone, Coplann lowered his hood and stepped forward. "I extend congratulations to you, Shai'Alyt. If not for your timely order to spread scouts out into hyperspace, we would never have discovered the human craft, or the route they were taking….particularly after the failure of your vessels in the system to stop Starkiller...or even to prevent him from slaughtering so many of those same vessels. By the way, do you yet have any explanation for what happened?"

If Branmer was at all discomfited by the thinly veiled attack, he certainly did not show it. He merely inclined his head slightly and stated, "Nothing concrete Satai Coplann. Nearly six score vessels were destroyed, mostly Sharlin, but also including a number of Tinashis and lesser vessels. In fact, every vessel, ship or fighter, close enough to take detailed sensor recordings of the event were amongst the casualties. Those ships far enough back to be spared could not get clear enough images of the event. In fact, sensor readings were significantly less detailed than they should have been, even at the given ranges. No explanation for this has yet been found. However, while the limited information available is still being analyzed, what data we have been able to gather strongly indicates one likely explanation."

"And that would be?"

"Another set of Shadow defenses. Something truly powerful. Perhaps even the Shadows themselves. We are in their system after all. This is where Dukhat wanted us to come, to see if they had returned. Perhaps they have. Perhaps they have been actively working against us, though that is entirely speculation. Whether or not it was the Shadows, simple misfortune on our part to stumble across those defenses, or if Starkiller intentionally lead our forces through them...that I cannot say. But this system has left me feeling...uneasy. As you know, once it happened, I ordered the rest of our forces within the system to slow their pursuit and take a more cautious and measured approach forward."

Coplann frowned. "Have you detected any real evidence that that Shadows have returned? That they are active, here in this system?"

"We have not, Satai."

"Then it is inappropriate for the Shai'Alyt to be taking counsel of superstitious fears. Your 'more cautious and measured approach' allowed Starkiller to escape into hyperspace."

"Where Hiai'sa Deermer detected him; yes, Satai."

Coplann grumbled, clearly having wished to get more of a response out of Branmer. Taking a breath, he continued, "Then I see no reason to make the Hiai'sa wait any further for a decision. Our course is clear. We must give chase and destroy the humans." Calling out to the hidden but perpetually listening subordinates around them, he began to order, "Reopen the…"

"No!" called out a strident voice. One of the Nine stepped forward, lowering the concealing hood. Coplann stopped in surprise, not because it was uncommon for Delenn to oppose him...that was practically all she did...but because it was very rare for her to speak so forcefully. "We will _not_ be sending that ship, or any ship, to follow the humans. I will not allow it."

"You won't allow it, Delenn? It is hardly your decision."

"And neither is it _yours_ to order our forces forward," she retorted.

"Is it not? I suppose I might argue that it is the Council's decision. That we should call a vote. But, that vote has already happened. Multiple times. You cannot argue this, Delenn. We must end this war, which cannot happen until Starkiller and his forces are destroyed. Only when that has happened can we end this chase."

"Yes, exactly."

"Don't try to argue with me, Delenn, you know...what did you say?" he asked, taken aback.

"I said 'exactly.' What you just said is perfectly correct. The war ends when Starkillers forces have been destroyed. Well, look there above you," she said, gesturing at the retreating form of the Nova, still visible in the hologram above them. "They have destroyed themselves."

"I...I don't understand," Coplann admitted reluctantly. "That vessel is perfectly fine."

"And just as perfectly dead. Sensors detect no sign of a beacon for them to follow. Which means they are just throwing themselves blindly into hyperspace. Whether they are taking a fool's chance at escape, simply wish to deny our warriors the pleasure of killing them, or hope to draw some of those same warriors to their deaths; it matters not. By diving into hyperspace, bereft of a beacon to follow, they have caused their own deaths as surely as if they had driven themselves under our Neutron Cannons. Any ships we chose to send after them would merely suffer the same fate. As little as I relish the idea of the humans dying slowly in the void of hyperspace as their reserves dwindle and their power supplies slowly exhaust themselves, far less would I enjoy the thought of sending our own people to that horrifying demise. The humans have chosen their death. Leave them too it."

"You...you cannot be certain this will kill them, Delenn."

"Can I not? Satai Durlan, please tell us, of all of the younger races, which is the most capable of traversing hyperspace without a direct beacon lock?"

Another figure slowly stepped forward and lowered his hood. Durlan was a member of the Worker Caste, and well respected in his knowledge. "That would assuredly be us, Satai Delenn. Only the Vorlons or other first ones exceed our capabilities in navigating hyperspace."

"And could we just take a fleet blindly into hyperspace, without an anchoring beacon?"

"No, Satai Delenn. That would assuredly lead to our destruction. We can explore out into hyperspace much more rapidly than any of the other younger races, but not that rapidly. Just like all of the younger races, we require beacons. It is only First Ones who may freely enter hyperspace."

"The humans have one of their exploration ships with them," Coplann argued. "The Hiai'sa said the massive thing was just visible in the distance, beyond Starkiller's dreadnought, when first she reported in. It has since passed beyond view, but surely its presence explains the humans actions."

Delenn did not even need to argue. Durlan did it for her. "It assuredly does not, Satai Coplann. Just like us, just like _all_ of the younger races, the human explorer craft must operate by leaving a trail of temporary beacons back to a permanent beacon. Nothing on Hiai'sa Deermer's sensors shows any signs of a trail of temporary beacons. The truth is inescapable. The humans have committed suicide. Unless you believe the humans have First One level capabilities."

The rest of the Satais were far too polite to laugh outright, but Coplann felt their mirth nonetheless. Delenn resumed speaking. "This war is over. Any chance for the humans to find safe harbor after a leap into hyperspace would require the universe itself to intervene on their behalf. This seems quite unlikely. I will not throw our Warriors after them, simply to witness their torturous deaths, only to share that fate as well. Why do you argue, Satai Coplann? We all wanted an end to the war, and now we have it. As you yourself have often noted, we have a great many things to deal with now that we can move on?"

Coplann tried one last argument. "Ending the war requires us to be certain, Delenn. To witness the destruction of those vessels. There is a chance, however remote, that the humans _will_ find safe harbor. That they will return to haunt us in a thousand years."

"Then we will deal with them if that unlikely event should come to pass." Sighing, Delenn relented. "Oh, alright Satai Coplann. In acknowledgement of your valid concerns, I suggest we bring in a team of deep exploration ships to search for the corpses of the human fleet. Given their bearing, this is a task which will quite likely take centuries, if not millenia. But it is an effort we can afford, to put all fears to rest and truly end the war. However, as of now, we must treat the war as though it is fully ended. The Minbari have much to do. Much I know you are eager to accomplish, Satai Coplann. And though you may not believe that the Shadows have returned, you cannot argue that there are defenses in this system which were not here at the end of the last Shadow War. Whether from the Shadows themselves, or those who would follow in their footsteps, we must remain vigilant. We must be prepared."

"And if we find the humans alive and well?"

"Then, of course, we resume our efforts to end their threat."

Coplann let the argument die. It would have to be enough. And there was, after all, a great deal that he wanted to accomplish.  
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 **Hyperspace, leaving Z'ha'dum - EAS Nova - May, 2249**

Susan was the first to awaken, clenching her eyes shut and gripping her head in pain. She was not, however, the first to complain about it. _Oh my fraggin' head_ , Tessa thought. _I wanna die._

 _No, you just think you do_ , Lyta responded. _Give it a minute. It's getting better._

 _Get out of my fraggin' head_ , Tessa shot. _Your making it hurt worse, and we agreed you wouldn't get in my head without permission first._

 _You're the one who's broadcasting,_ Talia advised sadly.

 _What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm no telepath._

Susan took a deep breath and sighed, opening her eyes. "You are now," she said aloud, finally breaking the silence. Now her ears hurt. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. I did."

Tessa groaned and sat up, also opening her eyes. "That's not possible. You can't just _become_ a telepath. It's not contagious." She looked around the room. The four friends were pressed against the aft bulkhead. The room was a disaster. The shattered remains of their footlockers, as well as their contents, floated and spun through the air. Undergarments drifted amongst datapads and shoes, makeup containers and pillow cases. "Zero g," Tessa noted, "so we must not be in combat any more if we aren't accelerating." Memory returned to her. The memory of a form made entirely of energy. "And what the hell was that thing?"

"That _thing_ ," Talia offered sadly, "was Jason Ironheart. And now he's gone, and I didn't even say goodbye." She wept silently for a moment, then turned a tear streaked face to Tessa. "He said he was giving a gift, 'in memory of love.' So why are you the one who's suddenly a telepath?"

"Guys…" Susan began, trying to get their attention.

"Tessa...were you sleeping with Talia's _fiance_ '?" Lyta asked suspiciously.

"What? No, of course not! How can you even ask that?"

"Ladies…" Susan began again.

"I barely knew the man," Tessa continued.

"Then why _exactly_ did he give his final gift to _you_ ," Talia practically hissed.

 _Girls!_ Susan shouted into their minds.

"WHAT?!" three angry faces shouted as they spun to her.

Susan took a deep breath. "We're...we're not in zero g."

"Don't be ridiculous, Susan," Tessa spat, throwing out her arm to indicate all of the flotsam floating gently through the air.

In response, Susan drew their attention to a pencil resting against her boot where she had placed it flat against the deck. She brought one hand gracefully down to the pencil, and flicked it with her finger, rolling it up the deck. It slowed, stopped, and then rolled back to its resting place. Susan then reached up and unzipped a pocket in her flight suit. Pulling out an emergency ration pack, she threw it gently forward into the room. Its motion slowed just as it would in a light gravity field, and then it too returned to Susan, dropping neatly into her hand. "I'd say the Nova is running at about three quarters acceleration."

Four sets of eyes now turned to the mess of detritus floating and tumbling through the air. "What the hell?" Tessa murmured softly.

Lyta cleared her throat. "Talia..I think this is your gift. Do you remember the TK test they gave us just before we were assigned to Project Exodus?"

Talia's brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course. I used an old penny I've had since I was a girl. I tried for days to make it move with my thoughts. I couldn't do it."

Lyta nodded. "Only one in every thousand humans has telepathic ability. Only one in every ten thousand telepaths has telekinetic abilities, and half of them are clinically insane. The half that aren't...moving a penny is about the most they can do." She took a deep breath and reached out a hand. "There's my favorite bra," she said softly, and suddenly that particular article of clothing arrested in mid air, and the flew sedately into her hand.

"That's not possible," Susan breathed.

"And yet it's true," Talia softly responded. Reaching out with her mind, she snagged her treasured penny out of the air, and brought it to hover in front of her face, rotating gently.

"So why can't I bring that shoe to me?" Tessa asked, reaching out with both hands and a look of concentration on her face.

"Because you're not the one who's lifting it," Susan guessed. "That's my shoe." With a thought, the offending footwear, came straight to her. "Wait a second." A look of intense concentration came over her face, and suddenly every one of her possessions floating through the air, clothes and other personal belongings, as well as the shattered remains of her footlocker, all came together to reassemble in the correct location. Talia, Lyta, and Tessa all gasped. And then the shattered pieces of the foot locker collapsed, and Susan's very untidy and unfolded possessions spilled out onto the floor once more. "Well," she laughed, "I guess it's not actually _magic_ then."

Talia and Lyta burst into gales of laughter. Tessa, however, was enthralled with her PPG. She had it spinning gently above her palm. "This is amazing," she said, "but how the hell do we explain this?"

"We start by reporting about Jason," Susan stated. "Part of me thinks we should keep the rest a secret, but this fleet has already had far too many of those. Let's...I think we should start by telling that part to Captain Sinclair or Commodore Sheridan. I trust _them_ to not immediately have us dissected."

"We can trust Stephen," Tessa offered. "But under no circumstances do we let Commander Bester know before the Commodore. This is a big deal. We have to be careful. Agreed?"

"Agreed," they each chorused.  
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 **Unknown System - EAS Eratosthenes - May, 2249**

The bulk of the Command Staff was gathered in the largest of the Eratosthenes many conference rooms. This one happened to enjoy an actual window out into space. Commodore Sheridan had gathered them here aboard the Eratosthenes to take advantage of the artificial gravity while they discussed their next moves. Despite their best efforts, the extended zero-G was beginning to affect the crew more and more.

But, that was a conversation for another time. For now, there were more important discussions to have, more important decisions to make. Despite this, Sheridan found himself staring out the window at the dead world below. A world which had never been seen by any human before. A world, if he understood correctly, which had probably never been seen by _any_ of the species he had met over the years. It shone dully in the light of the nearby red dwarf star. Turning away from the window, he spoke to the only civilian in the room. "Alright, Dr. Eilerson, IPX says you're the smartest person they've got. Explain to us where the hell we're at."

"I can't," Max said smugly. "Or, at least I can't tell you exactly. We are off the known beacon network. As was noted previously, the beacon we followed to get here was not consistent with any beacon know to our charts or those we received from the Abbai. Upon inspection of this system, the same is proving to be true."

"How is that even possible?" Sinclair asked.

"War. If a beacon path is severed during war, intentionally or unintentionally, it is possible that it might never be reestablished," Eilerson explained. "According to the records from the Abbai, this exact thing happened to a polity known as the Woon Stellar Association. Apparently quite a while back they found themselves at war with the Drazi. Despite being much larger in size, they weren't very good at war, and soon found themselves losing more and more territory. In desperation, they began severing beacon routes. The Drazi were unable to find them, unable to advance. This ended the war, but no one has had heard from them since. It's likely the Woon were unable to reestablish their beacon routes, leaving them permanently cut off. Several races have mounted exploratory expeditions attempting to reestablish contact, all to no avail."

"I think I heard something about that when we were on Zhabar," Doctor Franklin noted.

Eilerson nodded. "Possibly. Note that we risked a similar fate ourselves during the war, when we began manipulating the beacon signals. We didn't go as far though. Besides, apparently the Minbari are far better at searching through hyperspace than the Drazi ever were."

"The war in this system, Dr. Eilerson," Sheridan chided him gently to get back on topic.

Max cleared his throat. "Yes, well, there must have been a war here," Max explained. "The planet below was once habitable, but it is suffering from exactly the same kind of bombardment damage we saw at Z'ha'dum. From roughly the same time period as well, if our scans are accurate."

"So possibly part of the same nation? And how long ago was that?" Kathway inquired. She was a member of the Command Staff in her own right, but was currently filling in for Gideon, as he was busy on another task.

"Several thousand years, at least. Perhaps as many as ten or twelve. Look at the gate we came through," he said, pulling up an image of the gate on a nearby panel. It was completely surrounded by a rocky debris field. The surface was pitted and cracked, and the power was clearly unsteady, as the lights flickered quite frequently. Max continued, "All of the debris you see here appears to have stuck to the gate prior to our arrival, slowly accumulated by simple gravity. If a new species native to this system suddenly sprang up, they would never have found it. It would have looked like no more than any other rubble pile asteroid. Given the amount of debris in this region of space, in order for the gate to build up that much rubble it would have again required several thousand years. No one has touched that gate in all that time. Not until we came through."

"It's amazing that something that old could still be functioning without maintenance," Kathway offered.

"Indeed. Whoever built it clearly built it to last. As you can see, its power source has slowly begun to fail, but I anticipate that it will last at least another thousand years. Perhaps two or three."

"What else can you tell us about this new gate network or the people who built it, Doctor?" Sheridan asked.

"Not much. As you know, there is exactly one beacon path leading away from this system. Given the similarities between this system and what we saw at Z'ha'dum, as well as the general state of abandonment, I suspect that any system we find further up the network will be similarly abandoned and in the same state of disrepair. It's probably just a small branch of the overall network, cut off long ago at the same time, its populace was exterminated. Not even the Abbai knew that it existed."

"So in other words," Lochley offered quietly, "a perfect place to hide from the Minbari. A perfect place to put down roots and rebuild the human race."

"With the exception that all of the garden worlds are likely to have been bombed into inhabitability," Garibaldi countered.

"Then we may have to do some terraforming. That was always a possibility," Lochley countered stubbornly. "And we might just find a planet that wasn't completely sterilized. That has managed to recover."

Eilerson merely shrugged. "I couldn't say."

"Thank you Doctor, that will be all," Sheridan ordered, coming to stand at the head of the table. "We'll try your idea, Elizabeth. Search for someplace habitable. At the very least, I don't want to stay in this system, just in case the Minbari do manage to follow us." He looked up as Gideon entered the room, and made eye contact with the man. Matt gave a small shake of his head, and Sheridan restrained himself from sighing. "Before we can do that though, we have a number of things to take care of in this system. Not the least of which is a good hard maintenance period. All of our ships were worked hard in Z'ha'dum. Given our losses in pilots, I'll also be asking Captains Sinclair and Lochley and Commander Bester to run simultaneous classes. We have Starfuries in storage, but are operating below fifty percent on pilots. We also can't overlook at least a small R&R period for a significantly overworked fleet. There's a lot more besides. More than I can think of right now. I'll be sending out a complete list to all of you. Dismissed." As the crowd of officers started to disperse, John called out, "Captain Sinclair, Commander Gideon, please remain for a moment." He waited as the room emptied, save for Jeff and Matt, now both waiting on him. Of course, Matt knew exactly what was coming.

"What's up, John?" Sinclair asked once the room had cleared. He and Sheridan had recently allowed themselves to become less formal, at least in fairly private gatherings.

Unfortunately, this was not an occasion for informality. At least not to start with. He drew a deep breath, and stood to attention. "Captain Sinclair, it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that, as of now, Lieutenant Catherine Sakai is officially missing in action. She was instrumental in the location of a path away from Z'ha'dum, and in organizing the ensuing evacuation. Her last known contact was a report noting that she was investigating a potentially disabled ship, to ensure it was not left behind. We are unaware of any other missing ships, but the Rokai has not reported in, and is not present in the fleet. Unfortunately, circumstances now ensure that there is no way for the Lieutenant to rejoin the fleet, nor any option or possibility of us returning to search for her. On behalf of Earth Force and the entire human race, I must extend to you my deepest sympathy in your great loss."

Jeff grabbed for a chair, and nearly toppled to the floor as he would have missed it. Fortunately, Matt had been watching, and shoved the chair into place just in time. He felt the need to speak. "I'm so sorry, Captain. This is my fault. If I had been watching things closer, maybe I would have noticed she hadn't checked in. Catherine was an integral part of my crew. She was an amazing person, who always gave her all to do her duty. No one could ever replace her. I owe you a debt which can never be repaid."

Jeff dragged his eyes up from the floor, shimmering with unshed tears, and made eye contact with Gideon. "You stuff that shit now, Commander! We've already spoken once about you accepting guilt and responsibility for things that were not under your control. I've read your report. Finding the Sakai path and getting the fleet down it took a superhuman effort on everyone's part. Coming up with the method was nothing short of genius. The fact that more people aren't missing is what you should be taking responsibility for, not a single loss which is well below the casualty ratio for similarly sized _training_ missions!"

Matt was shocked at his vehemence. "I...I'm sorry, Captain."

"Commander. Stop. Fragging. _Apologizing_!" He took a deep breath. "Besides, she's not dead. I'd know. She's out there somewhere. Maybe, someday, if I'm luckier than I have any right to be, I'll find her again." John and Matt made eye contact upon this pronouncement, both worried for the mental health of their friend. But, Jeff wasn't done. "Commodore, Commander, if you don't mind, I feel the need to be alone for a few moments."

John straightened. "Of course, Captain. Take as much time as you need. And please, let us know if you need anything."

"Of course, Commodore." Then, turning, he sat staring out the window at the dead planet below.  
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 **Unknown System - The White Star liner Atlantis - May, 2249**

"Doctor," Captain Elizabeth Lochley said, trying to remain polite, "as impressive as your new digs are, we really do have quite a bit to do. Why exactly are we here?"

"Ladies…"

"Captains," Sandra Levitt interrupted.

Franklin nodded in acknowledgement. "Captains, it was brought to my attention by Commodore Sheridan that during the recent...unpleasantness… that what was essentially an untested and unregulated medical procedure was performed upon you…."

"Oh," Levitt interrupted again. "You mean how we were telepathically mind-raped out of our free will. Were you referring to _that_ untested and unregulated procedure, Doctor? Yes, do go on."

Franklin cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes...well, uhmmm...anyway, once I was advised of the situation, I impressed upon the Commodore the importance of ensuring you were both in good health. That you were not suffering from any side effects or mental trauma."

Levitt smiled sweetly. "You mean, _aside_ from being telepathically mind-raped out of our free will?"

Franklin cleared his throat again. "Yes, well...aside from that, yes." He sighed. "Things have been too busy up until now for me to pull you in. But, now that we have escaped from danger for a little while, it's time to take a look. And there is no better place to accomplish this than here, which is why I asked that you come aboard. Follow me, please."

"And what if we don't want to be poked and prodded," Elizabeth asked. "Were you planning on making this an order? As the Chief Medical Officer of the fleet, you have that authority."

"Only if I have to," he replied somberly. He walked out of a door in the pristine new waiting room in which they had met. Waiting a moment to ensure they were following him, he traversed the corridor beyond and into a large, state of the art examination room.

He waved happily to the room around them. "As you will both recall, the fleet was provided with a sufficiency of trained medical personnel. But, while we have plenty of ships that were designed for scientific research, the same is not true for the fleet's medical needs. Now, we had the tools and the materials necessary to put together a great hospital and medical center, once we had completed our journey and begun colonizing somewhere, but no equivalent facility within the fleet. It was assumed that local ship med bays would handle the need. And they've done a fairly good job, despite being overwhelmed by numbers they were never meant to accommodate. But, a medbay is basically the equivalent to a small clinic. It will never have the efficiency or capabilities of a truly professional medical center or hospital. Which is why, several months ago, I convinced then Captain Sheridan to back an effort to build this facility within the fleet...since we had no idea how long our journey would take. I've since gained some insights into the...Captains' Council, which was in place at the time. That Sheridan brought it to a vote before the resources could be alloted. . So, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you both."

"I didn't vote for you." Lochley said unapologetically.

Levitt sighed. "But I did. You're welcome, Doctor. Now, can we please get on with this?"

"Of course." He brought them over to a somewhat small alcove set into the large room. It seemed to be divided into two smaller rooms by a half wall and a curtain, currently open. The side he led them two was packed with a number of medical devices. The other side held a bed and a recumbent male, his head wrapped in bandages. He appeared to be a sleep, and an unfamiliar female doctor, a tall woman of mixed African descent, was checking his vitals. He indicated that they should take seats in the unoccupied half, then made introductions. "Captains Lochley and Levitt, allow me to introduce Doctor Sarah Chambers. She's our Chief Virologist, and one of the all around best doctors we have. We actually picked up quite a few bugs on Zhabar, and she's been busy tamping them down every since. She's also been made aware of your situation, so you can speak freely about the..."

"Telepathic mind-raping out of our free will?" Sandra supplied sardonically.

Franklin cleared his throat. "I was going to say untested and unregulated medical procedure, but yes, that."

"Are you going to keep calling it that?" Elizabeth asked, turning on Sandra. "It happened. Maybe we should just try to make the best of the rest of our lives."

"Yes, I will, to anyone I'm actually allowed to discuss it with. But, of course, we've been ordered to silence with anyone not in the loop. _You_ may have agreed to this, but I think death would have been preferable. And we're not even allowed _that_ escape. So no, I won't just smile and go along to get along."

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Lochley attempted to change the subject by nodding at Sarah's patient and asking, "Should we be keeping our voices down? I wouldn't want to wake him."

" _Feel free_ to wake him, if you can," Sarah said, sadly. "This man was one of the victims of our serial killer who managed to survive. Doctor Franklin happened to be close enough to where he was found to save his life. Unfortunately, having a hole drilled into his head did more than take out his telepathic ability. It put him into a coma. It is unlikely in the extreme that he will ever awaken. But, we try to stay hopeful, and keep his body in good shape, just in case."

So saying, Sarah closed the curtain, separating them from the comatose victim and effectively ending that topic of discussion. For the next twenty minutes, she and Franklin put the female Captains through a battery of tests. Finally, Stephen said, "Just one more test Captains, and then I can let you go." So saying, he motioned Elizabeth into a chair near the curtain, and reached out and picked up a wrist cuff, connected by a quartet of black hoses to a strange looking device. He then settled it onto Lochley's wrist, and began adjusting the controls on the device's console.

"That's a bizarre looking machine," she commented. "You know, I think medical equipment gets more and more alien looking each year."

Stephen shrugged. "Sometimes I feel that way too. This is pretty new. It scans your Mitochondrial DNA for damage or aberration. It'll just be another moment."

"Wasn't it already connected to your other patient?" she continued.

"We try to keep him under constant observation. But don't worry. It was designed to monitor two individuals at once. And...we're done." He motioned that Sandra should replace Elizabeth in the chair, and then settled the wrist cuff onto her arm. Shortly after, she to was done. "I want to thank you for your time, Captains. I'll be sure to inform you if we find anything troubling."

"After you inform the Commodore, of course," Levitt noted sourly.

"No. I'm your doctor, not his enforcer. Patient confidentiality still applies, no matter the current circumstances."

"Thank you, Doctor," Lochley cut in smoothly, "but we really do have quite a bit of work to do. We can see ourselves out." So saying, the Captains departed, and Stephen and Sarah began cleaning up.

It was a full two minutes before Sarah broke the silence. "Mitochondrial DNA?"

Defensively, he said, "If they should happen to look it up later, they'll find something appropriately scientific and medical sounding."

"Which just happens to not have anything to do with what was just done to them. Speaking of untested and unregulated medical procedures, I'm still not sure I agree with you performing one, particularly without the patient's knowledge or consent. Especially not when it's against the wishes and intentions of someone who has both the authority and the proven capability to have us both...how did the Captain put it?"

"Please, not the mind rape line. I've heard it enough, thank you."

"That doesn't make it any less true."

"True or not, John Sheridan is a good man, who was in an impossible situation. Just because I don't agree with his decision...just because I've decided to do something about it...that doesn't mean that I don't trust and respect the man. I don't think he'd do more than slap us on the wrists. But, he might choose to reimplement the Captains' punishment, and we can't have that.

"Nooo, certainly not," she responded, only slightly sarcastically. "Of course, you didn't respond to my point about this procedure being untested and unregulated. And what about its effects on our other patient?"

"I _have_ tested the machine. It works just the way Max Eilerson translated, though he didn't think it would work, and didn't bother to check. So we're the only two who know about it. It was once used for corporal punishment, draining the life force from the condemned, and using it to heal the innocent. In many ways, it actually transfers damage, disease or decay. That makes it dangerous. But, under the right circumstances it can be useful."

"What circumstances?" she asked suspiciously.

"I would never use it as a form of punishment, 'do no harm' and all, but if you have a volunteer, or someone who will never miss what was taken, it could be useful."

"Who would volunteer for something like that? Especially before it had been tested?"

"I did. I ran some small tests with myself as the donor. Paper cuts, acne, that sort of thing. It turns out, while the damage is transferred, it's not as bad as the original. It's about fifty percent. Which meant that our patient here could donate just enough to cure the damaged portions of both Captain Lochley's and Captain Levitt's minds before that portion of his own brain gave out."

"Alright, but _he_ didn't volunteer. You just added more brain damage to someone who has already suffered more than enough. What happened to 'do no harm?'"

"I also said someone who will never miss what was taken?"

"It's unlikely he will wake up, but we both know that there's at least a slim chance."

"No, there isn't. _He_ will never wake up, but _she_ might."

Sarah drew back the curtain to look at the very male patient beyond. Quirking an eyebrow at Franklin, she said, "Doctor, you're not making any sense."

Stephen gave her a half hearted smile, then looked down at the comatose body. "Our patient...rather, the man who once inhabited this body, died quite some time ago. He died when that smug, self righteous bastard Alfred Bester decided he wanted a backup for Susan Ivanova. This is where he kept it. In the process, he killed off the memories, the personality, the _life_ that resided here first. Now it's just a copy of Susan Ivanova. If _she_ ever wakes up, she'll have plenty of other problems to worry about, given we already _have_ a Susan Ivanova, in her original body and with her full faculties."

Sarah took a deep breath, then met Stephen's eyes. "One more question. Why didn't you tell them they had their free will back? They would probably appreciate what you did."

"Let them figure it out on their own. Maybe they'll think the original process failed or wasn't complete. Or that they just healed naturally. I didn't do this for appreciation."

"Why did you?" she asked. "No matter what you say about Sheridan, this was a dangerous move. If he found out, he could still have you executed, or have your mind burned."

"Well, maybe _that's_ why I didn't tell them...plausible deniability," he responded with a smirk. Then, growing more serious, he asked, "Do you know how I ended up on this fleet?"

"No."

"Before the war, I was assigned to a ship called the Archimedes. We heard about a ship that had crashed on a nearby, low tech world. We went in to help. It turned out, it was a Minbari ship. I did my best to help the crew, but I couldn't save any of them. However, between that and the later autopsies I performed, I learned a great deal about the Minbari.

"Then, during the war, I was ordered to use my research to create biological weapons for use against the Minbari. It went against everything I believed in." He paused, giving Sarah a chance to comment, but she remained silent, so he continued. "Instead, I refused, and destroyed all of my research so no one else could use it. 'Do no harm.' It _means_ something to me. I was arrested. They talked about treason, Courts Martial, the works. Instead, I was given one last chance, and sent on a mission with John Sheridan. That didn't work out as hoped, but afterwards we were both pulled into Project Exodus. And the rest, as they say, is history."

"Leaving well enough alone here wouldn't have been doing harm, Doctor. You didn't have to risk yourself."

"Sometimes, not fixing a problem when you can _is_ doing harm. At least, I think so. I was raised to always do the right thing, even when it's hard. _Especially_ when it's hard. John Sheridan is my friend, and I hold him in very high regard. But I'll fix what needs to be fixed, whether he likes it or not."

"You're a strange man, Stephen Franklin."  
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 **Ventox, The Vorlon Empire - Kosh's Ship - May, 2249**

 _Welcome_. Kosh Naranek bowed deeply as the most ancient Vorlon deigned to come aboard his ship. He was uncertain as to the exact meaning and repercussions of this particular Vorlon, first amongst equals of the Council which ruled his ancient race, coming to him; rather than summoning Kosh or sending another in his place. Without a doubt, it certainly meant an increase in his political standing. Not that this would be hard. His stock amongst the Vorlon government had fallen to near zero when the humans had seen fit to go to Z'ha'dum. That course had endangered the past, present, and future of his people. Vorlons, it seemed, were no more advanced than many of the younger races in their need to assign blame. Kosh's outspoken advice not to intervene had been seen as the great mistake which might have caused the calamity they all saw coming. He had been practically exiled.

And then, the humans had done the impossible. They had simply vanished, and no one was quite certain how. The Minbari believed they had performed a suicide dive into hyperspace. They hadn't left along any of the known hyperspace routes, and were no longer anywhere near Z'ha'dum, so the Vorlons had little reason to disbelieve the Minbari. But the temporal sensors Kosh had been monitoring indicated that the chances for a more promising and stable future were higher than ever. Other Vorlons assigned to monitor those sensors and guard the progression of time had confirmed that analysis. All of which meant the humans must still be out there. It meant that the near panic of the Council had been misplaced.

Kosh doubted that his esteemed visitor was coming to apologize to him. More likely than not, he was looking for something. Kosh guessed he knew what. If he was correct, then his standing amongst the Vorlons was about to increase even more.

 _Kosh_ , his visitor sent. _The humans have vanished._ The sending was laced with concern and confusion and images of the Council moving from one type of panic to another. It was filled with the endless hours of discussion and analysis as to just how a people as primitive as the humans could possibly have escaped the Minbari and the Shadows. It was certainly laden with the failure of the Vorlon 'experts' to come up with an explanation. _Can you explain?_

 _Yes_. If Kosh had been human he would certainly have smiled. He may even have cackled with glee. Instead, he simply sent his explanation. _The Lost Territories._ An image, a reminder of what was lost in the great war ten millenia prior. Of a time when Shadow and the Vorlon territory had directly bordered each other. When the animosity had grown so great that the supposed caretakers of the galaxy had taken up arms directly against each other, instead of following their usual pattern of using the younger races to duke it out by proxy. Vast swaths of their territory, entire stretches of the hyperspace gate network, had burned in the fires of war. That entire chunk of territory had been so devastated, so entirely depopulated, that the hyperspace routes connecting to it had failed, and the territory lost. It would have been easy enough for the First Ones to relocate and repopulate that territory, but its loss had been the shock to the system necessary to get both the Shadows and Vorlons to step back and end the war. The armistice agreement which had followed had forbidden either the Shadows or the Vorlons to re-enter that territory...or even to explore it. This kept their territories seperated, and for ten millenia had prevent any of their squabbles from reaching that level of carnage or devastation.

 _Impossible_ , came the response, loaded with skepticism. They were called the Lost Territories for a reason. The routes to enter them no longer existed.

 _Incorrect_. The paths through hyperspace still existed. It was merely the connections of the hyperspace beacons to light the way which had been severed. Skilled and lucky humans just might have found a way to use the hidden paths.

The ancient vorlon mulled the potential repercussions. He clearly did not like the possibilities. Just because those territories had been devastated and depopulated, that didn't mean that everything out there had been destroyed. There might still be Vorlon secrets for the humans to uncover. The possibilities were more than concerning. One in particular could bring chaos to the galaxy. _The humans might find the Experiment._ His concern was practically an accusation. A statement that the humans couldn't have made it to the Lost Territories, simply because the potential repercussions were unacceptable.

 _Yes_ , sent Kosh, with the mental equivalent of a shrug. What would be, would simply be, if the universe willed it.

 _A course of action?_

 _Patience_. Nonintervention had turned out to be the correct action so far. The temporal sensors all but confirmed it. The consequences of violating the armistice with the Shadows would be far worse than the potential impact of anything the humans might find in the Lost Territories. _Trust_. Trust the humans to do what was in their best interests, and thus the best interests of everyone. Trust the Vorlon people to respond correctly when the time called for it. Trust the universe to guide them all to the appropriate final outcome.

The ancient one paused, considering Kosh's argument. Then without further comment, he simply nodded and withdrew.  
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 **Z'ha'dum - Deep below the surface of Z'ha'dum - May, 2249**

The Shadow was feeling somewhat torn by recent events. On the one forelimb manipulator, a great many Minbari had been slain by the automated defense systems. That was good. But, on the other forelimb manipulator, the vast majority of their fleet had simply left, under their own terms. No one was supposed to be able to simple leave Z'ha'dum. But then, if they had stayed, it would likely have been to perform an all out assault. Given their numbers and preparation compared to the Shadows' own, it was possibly they might have destroyed something or someone vital, delaying the next war by as much as a thousand years. The fact that the humans, an apparently promising species, had somehow managed to elude not just the Minbari, but their own sensors as well, was again both pleasing and frustrating.

In fact, it had begun to wonder about the real purpose of the Minbari incursion into Z'ha'dum. The massive number of ships dedicated to hunting down a seemingly inferior race stretched credulity to the breaking point. And yet, despite being engaged by the automated defenses, the Minbari had left quietly after the humans disappeared. Were they interested in Z'ha'dum in the first place, or just the humans. And why did the humans merit such effort? There were far more questions now than answers. At first, the humans simply appeared to be clever, to have a stronger survival instinct, but now, the Shadow wondered if there might be more. The actions of the Minbari appeared illogical, but how could it be sure?

The final battle between the Minbari and the humans in this system also bore consideration. At first, it seemed obvious that the humans would be exterminated. But then, just as the champions of the Vorlons closed in for the kill, something inexplicable happened. Without explanation, the Minbari fighters immolated themselves. Then, their nearest ships simply exploded, without any cause that the Shadow could discern. There were signs of telepathic disturbances, but the sensors were unable to make out anything for certain. That should mean that any telepathic activities were far too weak to explain the bizarre occurrences.

The destruction of the nearest Minbari vessels had allowed the humans to get away, and then they disappeared without explanation from local hyperspace. Soon after, the Minbari and even the Vorlon watcher departed from the region. This left the Shadow with the unpleasant question of "What happened?"

If the Minbari did not come here at the behest of their Vorlon masters to attack Z'ha'dum, had they really come because of the humans? Why? What made the humans so special? Certainly, they must be special, given the disproportional amount of attention paid to them. If so, why would the Vorlons be interested in these humans? Or had they only come to act as a leash on the Minbari, to keep them from attacking Z'ha'dum directly? The Shadow decided that it must know. Other of its kind were waking from their slumber. Perhaps they might have some insight as to what made these humans so different from the other races. Risk and opportunity loomed in equal measure.

It became aware of a servant approaching, interrupting its musing. A Streib, it now recalled, that was its name, walked into the room, bowing low. " _What news?_ " the Shadow asked, disinterestedly.

"Great one, we have managed to acquire...some intelligence. We believe we know where the humans have gone."

That grabbed the Shadow's attention. Interest and anticipation washed through it. " _Very good. The humans may yet prove useful. Where are they?_ "

"We believe they discovered a path to the Lost Territories, Great One."

The Shadow's mind whirled with the implications and possibilities. " _You have done well. Maintain vigilance, and search the system again, in case the humans have fooled you in some way. I will gather a force and enter the Lost Territories, in search of the humans_."

The Streib was clearly taken aback. "But, Great One, what about the armistice agreement?"

The Shadow allowed a small portion of its displeasure to be seen and felt by the Servant, while maintaining silence. After only a moment, its knees began to shake. It hurriedly sketched a bow, offered its apologies, and all but ran from the room. That improved the Shadow's mood, a bit. " _What armistice agreement?_ " it asked of no one in particular.  
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 **Unknown System - The White Star liner Olympic - May, 2249**

"Gellar, Sarah, being commissioned to the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade." There was a smattering of applause, as Matt finally began to mount the stairs to the stage. The ceremony was growing tedious. There had been speeches from instructors, top academic achievers, the Commandant of Cadets, various VIPs, and even Commodore Sheridan himself. And then had come the long list of names. And even here, the process had stretched. The decision had been reached that not all of the graduates would be commissioned in as Ensigns. Given their service over the last year, some would be skipping a rank or two. Of course, those folks who might be skipping a rank might have been serving successfully as full Lieutenants or even Lieutenant Commanders on board the Midway. Of necessity, since they were now eligible to serve at any job, anywhere in the fleet, they were being reduced a rank or two from the honorary ones they had held over the last year. And some bright soul had come up with the idea to announce their new rank as part of the graduation and induction ceremony. Which, of course, meant that you couldn't just read off the name, making an already long ceremony practically interminable.

"Gerrera, Saul, being commissioned to the rank of Ensign." Matt stepped fully onto the stage. Perhaps he was just being grumpy. He himself had been required to give a speech, which had been one of the more horrifying moments of his career to date. He had spoken about lost classmates, particularly those lost in the Minbari infiltration of the Midway. He had dedicated himself to ensuring they would never be forgotten. He had read out the names of the lost, and announced that to honor their sacrifice, they would be officially graduated and commissioned post-mortem. The speech seemed to have been well received, with polite applause. Obviously, such a melancholy topic had neither deserved nor gotten the rousing cheering which had followed Sheridan's upbeat and inspiring speech about the future of the class, the fleet, and the entire human race.

And it _was_ good that this ceremony was being held. His classmates had worked so hard, losing loved ones, keeping up with their classes, and many doing the work of fully commissioned officers. They deserved this moment of recognition and evolution, to step forward as full fledged members of Earth Force. For himself, he knew that in all likelihood he would probably receive the rank of full Lieutenant, the highest rank any graduating cadet could reasonably expect. But, secretly, he was hoping for a Lieutenant Commander slot. It had been his assigned rank up until February when he'd been promoted to Commander and given the Eratosthenes. He was betting Kathway would get a well deserved promotion, and maybe he could be _her_ First Officer. The irony would be delicious.

"Gideon, Matthew, being commissioned to the rank of Captain." The audience, his fellow classmates, _everyone_ went absolutely wild. People were on their feet, chanting his name. _What? That can't be right,_ he thought bemusedly. Someone was pounding him on the back, and the Commandant of Cadets handed him something. Oh, right, his diploma. Attempting to maintain something _like_ a composed face, he marched across the stage, saluted Commodore Sheridan, and shook his hand. The Commodore offered some form of congratulation, but afterwards Gideon would never quite be able to remember what he said. Matt then proceeded across the stage, did a sharp left face at the end, and saluted Ensign Gerrera, and incidentally the entire crowd, who had been waiting for him. Gerrera returned the salute, then did an about face and began the walk back to his seat, as Matt strode to his spot and did his own about face to await the next graduate. Only when he had been saluted by that individual, Ensign Will Gilman, and returned said salute, was he allowed to return to his own seat.

On the way there, he glanced towards the VIP seating section. Given how few of the graduates had any civilian friends or family in the fleet, it had been decided that any military or civilian personnel with any connections to the graduates at all would be invited to come. The response had been overwhelming, and despite using one of the largest auditoriums in the fleet, it was standing room only. But, rank had its privileges, and an area had been set aside for high ranking military and civilian officers. He was pleased, and a little surprised, to see Elizabeth there. She made eye contact with him, and gave him a smile and a small nod. It was the first smile he had seen on her face since the incident. Perhaps everything really _would_ be alright.

He sat, and waited as the rest of the class received their diplomas and ranks. Finally, Captain Jeffrey Sinclair stepped up to the podium. "Graduates of the Earth Force Academy Class of 2249, please stand and raise your right hand. After I read the Oath of Office, signify your acceptance by saying 'I do.' So, do each of you, having been inducted into the Earth Alliance Earth Force, do solemnly swear, that you will support and defend the Earth Alliance Constitution, and the government and people of the Earth Alliance, against all enemies, alien and human. That you will bear true faith and allegiance to the same. That you take this obligation freely, without any reservation or evasion, and that you will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which you are about to enter, so help you God."

"I do!" Gideon and the rest of his class thundered.

"Graduates, go forth and be leaders, and warriors for humanity. Class of 2249, dismissed!" As his cap and a thousand others flew into the air, Captain Matthew Gideon knew that whatever the future brought, this fleet and these people would meet it head on.  
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 **From the personal log of Captain Jeffrey Sinclair**

 _It was the dawn of a new age for Mankind. The end of the Earth-Minbari war. Project Exodus was a nightmare given form. It's goal, to take the best and brightest of the human race and snatch them away from the doom which would surely befall the rest of the species. It was a motley fleet, a new home for soldiers, scientists, refugees and explorers._

 _It's a dangerous undertaking, but it's our last best hope for survival._

 _Over two and a half million humans, wrapped in fragile shells of metal...all alone in the night._

**The End of Part 1**


	20. Interlude 1

**Interlude 1**

 **Mars**

"Come on! _Come on!_ "

Legs pumping, lungs burning, she ran towards the figure of her pressure suited colleague. He was waving frantically for her to hurry, from where his torso emerged from a hole in the ground. She dove, body slicing several meters through the light Martian gravity. He deftly grabbed her out of the air, and tossed her down into the hole. Quickly grabbing ahold of the nearby cover, layered in Martian soil to make it all but invisible from a distance, particularly from orbit, he rapidly pulled it into place above them. Mere moments later, a distant spec of light crested the horizon...a Minbari warship patrolling the orbitals.

She looked around, stepping down where the back of the hole opened out into a short corridor, and then into a small room; a bunker. It was a tiny space for the almost two dozen people huddling therein. The gear and supplies they had brought with them, and which had been stocked here previously, cramped it passed the point of claustrophobia. But, if they had stayed on the surface to be seen by the Minbari, they might as well have simply shot themselves.

Two dozen people. Such a tiny number for what was quite possibly all that remained of the human race. One of them was waving to her. "Anna. Thank heavens you made it!"

"It's good to see you too, Dr. Chang," she replied fondly, before he forcefully pulled her into a hug. That would have been unthinkable just a few months back, when he had been the lead on their archaeological expedition. So much had changed since then.

They had all had seats in the exodus fleet. Escaping the Minbari was almost certainly a forlorn hope, but they had to at least try. And she would have been able to spend whatever time they had left to them with John. But, it had also seemed like a no brainer to do some real work while they waited for the balloon to go up. After all, that was what had earned most of the IPX folks their spots with the fleet in the first place. When Dr. Chang had announced he was organizing a small expedition on the Martian surface, she and many others had jumped at the chance. It seemed foolish now.

It had been their plan to work while they could, and to pull out and return to the fleet at the first sign of enemy action. They should have foreseen how rapidly everything would devolve into chaos. How quickly transportation and communication systems would become overloaded and break down. Despite their best efforts to get to the spaceport, and then to the fleet, they had come within sight of the Mars colony just in time to see it carved up like overripe fruit.

That had just been the start of their long nightmare. She had cheered with everyone else when the giant flash in the sky had swept it clean of the Minbari monsters. It was a sure sign that _someone_ was fighting back, and she knew without a doubt that someone was John Sheridan. But that had been the last truly hopeful thing that had happened to them. The ensuing months had been a nightmare slog of survival, movement, and resistance.

They had first made their way into the city. They hadn't truly been thinking at that point, more acting out of shock than any half formed thoughts of offering aide to the survivors of the dome rupture. They had found a fair number anyway. More than they could possibly help. People who had made it into suits in time, or been moving in or out of one of the airlocks. People who had gotten to some of the few shelters which had survived the bombardment, or were lucky enough to be in vehicles which were both pressure sealed and hadn't been breached in the attack.

Their efforts were disjointed and uncoordinated, but they did their best. They pulled people from rubble, found suits to get to those trapped in leaking bunkers or vehicles, gathered supplies. Their numbers swelled, and within a Martian day the population of their little group had swelled into the hundreds, perhaps even over a thousand.

And then the Minbari had returned, and in their anger over their lost ships they had bombarded the city all over again. The fledgling community of survivors had shattered like glass, those that survived this new rain of death scattering to the winds. Their little science cadre had managed to stay together, even keep a few of the rescued Marsies around them, but they had their first casualties in that attack. Fully a quarter of their number never left Mars Dome One.

The days that followed were a blur. Spreading out into the countryside. A steady stream of Marsies joining and then leaving them. Searching, always searching for food, water, air. Shelter. Never finding enough of any of it. Finding death instead. Death from relying on overtaxed and unmaintained infrastructure. Death from oxygen deprivation. Death from food or water poisoning. Death from Marsies coming to take what little they had.

And then the Minbari had put boots on the ground, and things got worse. Their actions were bizarre and indecipherable. Sometimes it seemed as though they were trying to round up any human survivors, to ship them elsewhere. Sometimes they seemed to be simply trying to find and eradicate any remaining humans, like vermin to be cleansed. And sometimes it seemed as though they were moving in, taking over.

Anna had been foraging in an outlying settlement, built around an old but still functional tracking station, when a Minbari shuttle had come in and landed. Terrified, she had maintained enough presence of mind to hide herself next to a leaky reactor in order to mask her biosigns. It was hard to tell one Minbari from another, particularly in space suits. But, while the first several Minbari to emerge were clearly heavily armed soldiers, she would have sworn that the dozen or so who followed were civilians. They were certainly unarmed, and lacked that bloodthirsty air she picked up from the soldiers.

Over the next several hours she watched, terrified and fascinated in equal measure, as the Minbari began to tidy up the compound. They cleared rubble and debris, even making a few repairs. They began to unload equipment, the nature of which Anna could not decipher. They inspected and cleared several of the buildings, and even raised some premanufactured structures. Anna was certain she would be discovered at any moment, but apparently working on the reactor was not on today's schedule. The Minbari had eventually all climbed back into their shuttle and flown away.

Anna's oxygen had been running low by that point, and the relief she had felt was tempered with an ongoing concern for her continued survival. She burned to inspect the Minbari gear, but feared this might set off an alarm and cause the Minbari to return. Instead, she ran back to the hidden camp her colleagues had set up, barely making it before her oxygen gave out. That had been her first close up encounter with the Minbari. It would not be her last.

They had become almost common over the next several weeks. More and more, as their little group approached the various Martian settlements and outposts in search of supplies, they found Minbari there and were forced to turn away. Soon, running out of nearly everything, they became desperate enough to try something foolish. They had planned to raid a Minbari camp, and steal the supplies out from under them. They had been carefully sneaking up to their chosen outpost, which contained a single shuttle and a bare handful of Minbari. Approaching to within a couple of hundred meters, they were shocked when the shuttle exploded. Or, rather, the ground under the shuttle had exploded, taking the spacecraft and its attendant Minbari with it. The explosion was powerful enough that they felt it through the ground, though the thin Martian atmosphere didn't carry any real power to them.

For a while they just sat, watching in disbelief. But they simply didn't have the water or the air to make it to another site. They had no choice but to approach, and hope that some supplies from the site had survived the explosion. They had been rooting through still smoldering debris when a ring of heavily armed figures had sprung up from the sand, surrounding them and cutting off any escape. The troops were grubby, clearly having seen better days, but they were human and a welcome sight.

Both groups had been operating under the strictest radio silence, but there had been no mistaking the hand signals instructing them to follow, nor the guns enforcing that demand. They had been led across the Martian plain, frequently taking cover from what she would only later learn was observation by orbiting Minbari warships. Throughout the days that followed, they had travelled at a gruelling pace. Many of the scientists and civilians had difficulty keeping up, after so long with limited rations. Frequent prodding from weapons barrels had kept them motivated though.

Anna had spent a great deal of time studying local maps, in search of potential resources. She also had a very good sense of direction. So she was quite aware that there was absolutely nothing in the direction they were marching. At least, not for the next thousand kilometers or so. Which was why she was so surprised when one of the soldiers had stopped and pulled aside a sand covered tarp, revealing a narrow tunnel burrowing down into the ground. Her group was marched down the tunnel and, after several dozen yards of steep descent, through a pressure door and into a large airlock.

The apparent leader of the armed troops had gestured for them all to remove their pressure suits. Despite the potential dangers of the situation, she was more than glad to do so. The first thing to hit her as she removed her helmet was the smell. The smell of oft recycled and poorly scrubbed air. The smell of odious and unwashed Marsies. Both smelled sweet to her. Without a word, the leader of the Marsies had gestured for them to follow him and his men, through the far hatch and into a surprisingly large bunker. And that was how Anna and her party had joined the Mars Resistance.

Not that they had been welcomed in with open arms. At least, not at first. Quite a few of the members of the resistance had been all for kicking the "dirty Earthers" back onto the surface, without their pressure suits. Fortunately, the leadership had been far more practical than that. By that point, there was no real enemy but the Minbari, and the enemy of my enemy is most certainly my friend, if not my brother. And so her people, Earther and Marsie, civilian and scientist, had joined up with the only game in town.

Anna had spent the next several weeks learning to be a guerrilla. Learning to build bombs and emplace them. Learning to maintain and fire weapons. Learning to tell the difference between Minbari troops and Minbari civilians, and how to kill the latter and run from the former. Learning basic hand to hand combat techniques, though those were far more useful against overly amorous Resistance members than they would ever be against the Minbari. Most of all, learning the ins and outs of the Mars Resistance. They had a surprising number of hidden bases and bunkers, weapon and supply caches, and even some aircraft and other vehicles, all scattered across the near surface of Mars. Anna wasn't naive. She knew exactly why all of those facilities and supplies had been emplaced. Whom they were designed to fight and kill. She chose just to be happy they were available for fighting and killing the Minbari.

And then their training was complete, and they joined the other Resistance members scattered across the surface, doing their best to return a little pain to the enemy. And doing it well. Anna specialized in bombs. She was personally responsible for blowing up a pair of Minbari shuttles, and killing dozens of their soldiers, and perhaps hundreds of their civilians. For a few glorious weeks, they were the scourge of those Minbari foolish enough to try to inhabit the surface of _their_ planet.

And then the Minbari officially took notice of them, actually treating them as a threat. They all knew it was coming. They all thought they were prepared. And not a one of them failed to be stunned by the ferocity of it when it came. A dozen "hidden" bases were burned from orbit in the first minute. Every Minbari garrison on the surface quadrupled in size, and thousands of troops came down to the surface, scouring the areas in which the Resistance had been operating. They had brought along better scanning equipment, and many previously effective hiding techniques became utterly worthless. One after another, resistance cells began to go dark.

The order had gone out: retreat and evade. Stay alive to fight another day. It was far easier said than done. The days and weeks which followed were a nightmare struggle to survive and escape. It was somewhat reminiscent of the days right after the fall of Mars Dome One, but far, far worse. The Minbari were everywhere. Anna and a few of her compatriots made one narrow escape after another, not by virtue of being good enough or smart enough to escape. No, simply by virtue of being lucky enough, again and again, to be among the few survivors of the Minbari's lightning fast attacks. They seemed to be more interested in eliminating as many positions and people as rapidly as possible than in ensuring any given attack killed every human in the area. After all, if they removed enough of the organization and infrastructure from the Resistance, then Mars itself would exterminate them.

All around them they saw the signs of the Resistance dieing. They made their way to safer ground as rapidly as possible, doing their best to remain covert. But during that trek their party was whittled away. The Resistance members accompanying them. The civilians they had rescued, or who had joined up with them during the resistance. The original members of the scientific expedition. Their numbers dwindled so fast that Anna couldn't keep track of the names or faces. By the time they got out of the large area on which the Minbari were focusing, there were barely two dozen of them left. They saw no signs of other parties having escaped the Minbari operation. And they needed to keep moving.

They might be beyond the focus of the Minbari extermination effort, but they were far from safe. Minbari ships frequently crested the heavens in their various orbits. To be seen by one of them was tantamount to death. And the hidden Resistance bunkers and caches were far fewer and farther between way out here. And entirely unmanned as well. They were on their own. And now, here they were.

Returning her attention to Dr. Chang, she asked, "Do we have a plan?"

He waved her over to a dimly lit table at the far end of the crowded room. He'd spread out the map they had received from the Resistance across it's top. "We're here," he said, gesturing to a tiny point on the map. "The largest bunker in this area is over two hundred klicks away. But records indicate it is very well stocked, in both gear and supplies. With just a couple dozen of us, we should be able to survive on those supplies for at least a couple of years. I'm hoping we can use the materials there to make the facility self sustaining. It's a longshot, I know, but we have some pretty smart folks with us."

"And then what?" she asked. "The last remnants of the human race live like mice in the Minbari's cupboard? In perpetuity?"

"We do, anyway, unless you have a better plan?" When she sighed and shook her head he continued, "But perhaps we aren't the last of the human race. Your boy John may still be out there with that fleet of his. Perhaps some day their descendants will come and rescue ours."

Anna knew that the words were meant to be reassuring, but she found them incredibly depressing instead. She had almost as little hope for John as she did for herself. She tamped down those feelings, and instead asked, "Alright, how do we get there. That's a long walk. If those orbital patrols see us, we're done for."

"Agreed." He traced his finger from their current position to a line of low hills. It looked deceptively close on the map. "If we push _very_ hard, we should be able to make it to these hills in less than eight hours. The Resistance noted several caves in the area, so we make for the nearest one. The Resistance never explored it, so no supplies or facilities of any kind. For all we know, we'll all be huddling in a small depression in the hillside, but it should at least cover us while the Minbari pass overhead."

"Eight hours is a hell of a long time. Are there even any openings that large in their coverage?"

"Assuming they maintain their current patterns? Not for another five days. That's good, actually. We've got plenty of food, water, and air here for that duration. We all need to rest and fatten up a bit. Rebuild our energy reserves. We'll need them for the trek. We'll be spreading out, same as before, to ensure an accident or a Minbari attack gives at least a few of us a chance to escape. Of course, that'll make the time frame that much tighter."

Impossibly tight, most likely. She could read the map. Even with rest and recuperation, trying to cover that distance in eight hours would burn them. They'd be dropping with fatigue well before they got there, and they couldn't afford _any_ stragglers. But there was no room for doubt anymore. "We can do it," she assured with well feigned confidence.

She had been right. They had rested and eaten like kings for five days, healing and preparing for the trek. And it _hadn't_ been enough. They were most of the way there, perhaps a few of them had already reached the cave, but they were _all_ ready to drop. The eight hours were almost up, and Anna could barely pick up one foot to set in front of the other. She was bringing up the rear, and was already doing her best to assist the pair of Marsie civilians, a married couple in their middle years, who had been in front of her. They had slowed to a crawl, and even in her exhausted state she would have passed them. But, if the Minbari saw the pair, then they would almost certainly be able to snap up the entire party. So, despite her exhaustion, she found herself propping up the pair, half dragging them forward. She just wanted to collapse, and they fell farther behind schedule, until finally all three of them dropped to their knees.

And then a tall figure was looming over her. She recognized her friend and colleague, but had no breath with which to greet him. Unceremoniously he scooped up the female Marsie, tossing her over one shoulder, then took a firm grip on the webbing of her husband's suit, and practically hauled him to his feet. Then the bastard began to _jog_ forward.

He looked over his shoulder at her, and apparently he had taken the chance of setting his radio to minimum power, because she heard him when he said to her, "Move your fat ass, Dr. Keller."

Well, she couldn't let _that_ go, so she climbed exhaustedly to her feet, and made after him at her best speed. They made it to the cave just in time, and from under cover she watched as the lights of a Minbari orbital patrol slowly climbed its way across the sky.

The two Marsies had moved off deeper into the cave, but her friend was waiting for her. She stepped deeper into the cave, and he unrolled a metal screen across the opening. It acted as a Faraday cage, allowing them to use their radios safely; at least at low power. When he finished, she turned to him and said, "Fat ass moved, Dr. Morden."

He chuckled, and seemed about to say more, when they received a broadcast from Dr. Chang, deeper in the cave. "Dr. Morden! Dr. Keller! Get down here! You're never going to believe what we've found."

"You go," she said to Morden. "I want to keep an eye on those Minbari ships for a bit. I'm getting a bad feeling, for some reason." He nodded silently and headed into the cave. She continued to watch the lights from the Minbari patrol. She'd seen a thousand of them before, but for some reason the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck were standing straight up.

Her irrational fear had only grown more acute when, a few minutes later, the screaming started. Anna didn't hesitate. She turned and sprinted deeper into the cave. Fear had grown into terror, but these people were almost certainly the last humans she would ever know. Whatever happened, she intended to stand or fall together with them.

The Minbari patrol, a trio of Tinashi, were almost directly overhead when the awakened Shadow Vessel shrugged off the hillside under which it had slumbered for a thousand years. Spinning upwards, it fired its Molecular Slicer, carving easily through all three of the Minbari vessels. They died before even realizing the danger, much less being able to report it. Then the ancient vessel transitioned to hyperspace in a shimmer which shook the now deserted landscape.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **Quadrant 24, Narn Space**

G'Kar sat nervously aboard the bridge of the Chad'rasha Narn, watching the Minbari Cruiser as it sat motionless in space while they slowly approached. The Cruiser had popped out of hyperspace a few hours ago, and then an Alyt had commed the fleet base, demanding that he come aboard for consultation. _The pure effrontery of these people_ , he seethed to himself, _summoning me as though we were not in the heart of a Narn system. Demanding that_ I _come to them_. To make matters worse, the Minbari had come in well out system, forcing G'Kar to find a ship and spend nearly a day travelling to them.

Of course, that meant G'Kar had been able to use the Chad'rasha Narn, a Bin'Tak class Dreadnought, easily the mightiest ships in the Narn fleet. It lent him confidence as they performed the final approach to the Minbari vessel. He would need that confidence. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that he was far more nervous than irritated. Not that he would ever let the Minbari know that, of course. He did miss the presence of his uncle G'Sten though. The Warleader had been away from his flagship, consulting with the Admiralty on the homeworld. There had been no time to summon him.

G'kar reflected that the rush was also fortunate in at least one way. There had been no time to assemble an escort fleet. The last time this ship had come face to face with the Minbari, they had felt free to destroy the escorts, a pair of G'Quan class cruisers, to prove a point to him. They would be far less likely to fire on G'Kar's own ship to try to make a political point. At least, that was his hope.

"Receiving a message from the Minbari," advised the communications officer, a young female Lieutenant whose name he did not know. "Ambassador G'Kar...they instruct you to come aboard."

This news met with hisses of displeasure from most of the bridge crew, but Captain Na'Ston turned to him professionally and merely asked, "May I suggest you take an armed escort, Ambassador?"

"No, but thank you, Captain. We don't know how the Minbari would react to that. I will pilot a shuttle over myself. While I am gone, be on your guard, but be polite should the Minbari request anything of you. I will try not to be too long."

The Captain simply bowed shallowly in respect and returned to his duties. G'Kar turned and left the bridge, making his way to the shuttle bay. Since the incident with the Minbari several months ago, he had stationed himself aboard the Chad'rasha Narn so as to be able to rapidly respond to further Minbari provocation with a dual show of force and diplomacy. He had become quite familiar with the vessel, and despite the distance it did not take him long to reach his personal shuttle. Climbing in, he performed pre-flight checks with practiced ease, distracting himself from his concerns over the upcoming meeting.

Once completed, G'Kar commed for and received permission to launch, then did so and transited the roughly twenty kilometers between the Narn and Minbari warships. He did not need to request permission to board the Minbari vessel. By the time he had come within three kilometers of it, a tractor beam had locked onto his vessel, rudely taking control away from him and dragging his little shuttle into an open hangar.

Upon being deposited onto the hangar deck, he habitually checked the external sensors to validate the presence of a breathable atmosphere. He need not have, given he had already made eye contact with a pair of robed Minbari, breathing normally, walking up to stand in front of his shuttle. Their easy stride proved the presence of the artificial gravity his bones were telling him was present. The Narn had yet to master that technology. Perhaps at some point he could convince the Minbari to share it with them. They certainly owed the Narn after their unwarranted aggression.

G'Kar opened the hatch and exited his shuttle. He greeted the pair of Minbari with a shallow bow. "Good eating to you, my friends."

The Minbari said not a word, merely returning slight bows of their own, then waving him to follow as they turned and led him off of the hangar deck. G'Kar became somewhat concerned when a trio of Minbari warriors fell into step behind him. Perhaps he _should_ have brought an escort. Well, at least the Minbari troops appeared to be unarmed. Hopefully that was a good sign.

They walked silently through the massive vessel for several minutes, ignoring all of G'Kar's attempts at conversation. Finally they opened the door to a small room and waved for G'Kar to enter. A table loaded with food and drink was set up along one wall, but the room otherwise bore the esthetic of someone's personal quarters.

The pair of Minbari turned to leave, and G'Kar called out to them, "When will someone be meeting me?" They gave no response, merely closing the door behind them. He did, however, notice the Warriors taking up position on the other side, preventing him from wandering off. "I guess I shall wait here then," he muttered to himself.

The wait was less than fifteen minutes, but his nerves made it feel much longer. The slight tremor which rippled through the room after several minutes of waiting simply put him further on edge. Finally, the door opened and a young Minbari female entered, dressed in robes very similar to the previous two, bowing slightly to him.

G'Kar felt it was time for him to assert some dominance by showing a bit of temper. "It's about time," he snapped. "Do you know how long I have been waiting? My time is not to be wasted. I demand to speak with whomever is in charge!"

"My name is Delenn…" she began, but he cut her off viciously.

"I do not care who you are," he snapped. Her eyes widened, and he chastised himself. Perhaps he had gone too far. It wasn't her fault her masters were toying with him. Taking a breath, he began again. "Young woman….Delenn, was it? Delenn, you are a lovely creature, and in any other circumstance I would be delighted to get to know you better. Perhaps much better. But, for now, I am afraid I must insist that you take me to someone...of importance."

She gave another shallow bow, which he took as a good sign, until she began to speak. "My name is Delenn," she repeated, "Ambassador for the Minbari. You have been summoned so that I may advise you of the events which are about to transpire."

G'Kar tried not to show his surprise. This waif had been appointed Ambassador? What were the Minbari thinking? And she was here to _tell_ him what was about to happen? He supposed that could be innocent, but the phrasing certainly got his hackles up. Still, he bit back a retort and simply responded, "Please, illuminate me."

The girl began to pace. She was clearly troubled by what she had to say, but she still said it confidently and without hesitation. "You have, I'm certain, been following our war with the humans." G'Kar nodded, allowing her to continue. "You may not have heard that the war has finally ended. The last system has been subdued, the last extant fleet eliminated. The human threat is no more."

She paused, looking directly at G'Kar to confirm he understood. He gave another small nod, but otherwise said nothing. "During the war we chose to focus exclusively on the humans. However, there were actions by other species...assaults upon the Minbari...to which we must respond. The time for that response has come. Those who dared to challenge the Minbari must learn the error of their ways.

G'Kar chuckled. "Yes, I had heard that the Drazi gave you quite the drubbing. And something about the Vree as well, though I don't know as much about that as I would like. Would you launch another war so soon after the last? All over a species simply defending their own system? Against the Drazi or the Vree? Even you people could not be so foolish as to go to war with two races at once. At least I assume so, since you waited to finish off the humans before taking this step."

The girl's expression never wavered, despite his barbed comments. She merely waited for him to finish. "No, we will not be going to war. Ask the humans, or the Garmak, or the Wen'dan Horde what it means to fight a war with the Minbari. If you can find any. No, we have decided that the actions of the Vree and the Drazi were not without honor. They aided the humans by fighting Minbari. However, they both had strong connections to the humans, and only aided them and fought us within their own territory. However, their attacks upon us used methods we deem to be dishonorable. So while those races have not earned the annihilation that would come in a war with the Minbari, they must be taught the error of their ways. They must learn that there are...consequences."

G'Kar became distinctly uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading. "What sort of consequences?" he asked, red eyes narrowing.

"Their warships and spaceborne military assets will be eliminated to the last. Purely nonmilitary facilities in space and all planet borne assets shall be left alone. Unless, that is, those assets participate in resisting us. Surface installations, military or otherwise, which attempt to attack or otherwise interfere with the Minbari will also be destroyed. As will any nonmilitary space structures or vehicles which act against us."

G'Kar attempted to hide his disquiet. "They will resist you. You cannot expect the Drazi, or even the Vree, to just _let_ you destroy their military."

"We do not. We anticipate and accept that they will fight back. Our Warriors welcome it. And, so long as they fight honorably, only their Warriors shall suffer. We will leave their cities and infrastructure intact so that they can rebuild, having learned the lesson we strive to teach them."

G'Kar mentally shook himself, doing his best to shrug off the unease which possessed him and focus on diplomatic niceties. He needed to step very carefully with this Delenn. Straightening, he gave a slight bow and offered her his best smile. "Well, I certainly thank you for the notification, Ambassador Delenn. I shall ensure that my government is notified, and that our civilians are withdrawn from Vree and Drazi space. We will certainly get out of your way until the...hostilities…have ended."

"I did not call you here to warn your government to 'get out of the way,' G'Kar," Delenn said, her expression still unchanging. His blood ran cold at her next words. "You were summoned so that I might explain the rules of the punishment the Minbari are about to deliver, and so that you might understand why the Narn Regime is being included in this punishment."

"What?!" he shouted. "That's preposterous. We didn't attack you. It was one of your ships which brutally destroyed a pair of G'Quan class cruisers. I know. I was _there_."

"An indiscretion for which we have apologized. However, like both the Vree and the Drazi, the Narn have aided the humans in fighting us."

"How? Because they passed through our space? We didn't know! The humans are very sneaky. Will you attack every species whose territory Sheridan led his fleet through? I believe that is a very long list."

"The assistance the Narn gave was intentional, Ambassador G'Kar," she said flatly.

"Ahh," he said, understanding dawning, "you have been speaking with the Centauri. I urge you to ignore everything they say. They lie. They are very good at it. It is all they are good for."

"And is _this_ one of their lies, G'Kar?" she asked, reaching into a pocket and retrieving some sort of print out, which she handed to him. G'Kar couldn't tell what the page was made of, feeling different than paper, plastic, leather or even cloth. But it was the content of the page which made G'Kar want to scream in horror. He had seen them before. It was the schematics and technical information for a Narn Heavy X-Ray laser cannon. He had personally delivered those schematics into the hands of Earth Force.

He maintained tight control over his features, brutally beating down his fears. "Yes, it must be. This is clearly a Centauri Heavy X-Ray Laser. I'm not sure why you would think it comes from the Narn. Clearly, the Centauri have been assisting the humans. But I do understand the confusion. The Narn did copy this weapon and its technology from the Centauri. We got it when we broke free from Centauri imperialism, and threw them off of our world."

Delenn nodded. "Yes, you did take much of your technology from the Centauri. But you were not able to copy it all perfectly, were you? Some of the most advanced technologies of the Centauri were beyond your grasp. You were forced to devise work arounds. The capacitor technology and power runs of Narn vessels are significantly less efficient than their Centauri counterparts. This causes them to be both bigger, and to produce a slightly different power signature. Something which is easily detectable to Minbari sensors.

"Did you think the Minbari did nothing but rampage through Earth Alliance space, destroying everything? I assure you, we put forth the effort to capture some of their records and documents, including those schematics. We took the time to build the weapon, as well as test it, and compare the results to our sensor reading of both Narn and Centauri ships. Tell me G'Kar, whose weapons do you think it was a perfect match for?"

G'Kar was desperate, "Centauri lies and intrigue. They must have given the humans schematics that would specifically incriminate the Narn!"

"Because they are liars?"

"Yes."

"Because they are _very good_ liars?"

"Yes!"

"You are correct, G'Kar," she said, and his hopes flared. And then she continued, "the Centauri must be very good liars indeed, because _I_ certainly believe the tale this document offers. As I said earlier G'Kar, you were summoned so that I might explain the reason and the rules of the punishment which is about to befall the Narn, not so that you could argue its merits. I have completed my task. My decision stands. Thank you for coming, ambassador."

She turned and began walking away, but this was too much for G'Kar. "AHHH!" he screamed in frustration. "I should have known better than to waste my breath," he shouted at her. "You're even worse than the Centauri. They dream of conquest, but _you_...you approached a first contact situation with gun ports opened, and your sensors blazing so brightly that primitive Earther sensors couldn't tell whether or not you weapons were powered. Blazing so brightly it even prevented them from fleeing into hyperspace. And when they dared to fire at you, did you bother to question your own culpability? When they attempted over and over again to surrender, or to offer up in sacrifice the officer responsible for the act, did you even consider mercy? Were you satisfied with completely and unequivocally defeating them? _NO!_ You brought the Earth Alliance to its knees, and ground it into the dust. _Why?_ " he ended in a near hiss.

Upon hearing his tirade, Delenn had hunched her shoulders slightly, as though to brace against a blow, but she never broke eye contact with him. "We had our reasons," she responded with quiet intensity. Then turning away from him, she began to raise her hand to a nearby wall.

G'Kar was uninterested in her actions, and turned away, continuing his rant. "On Narn we heard that the decision to go to war, to destroy the Earth Alliance completely and without mercy, came from your...holy men. A secret group called the Grey Council. Weak, frightened old fools with no vision or mercy. And now you…" he spat, spinning back around. And then he sputtered off, gasping for breath. He distractedly noticed that Delenn was approaching him, left hand raised and outstretched. And on her finger was a ring which had not been there before. Bulky, red and crystalline, it immediately drew his full attention. He barely notice the cabinet behind her, previously concealed but now standing open. Within the cabinet were nearly two dozen additional rings in varying colors; a circle of vertical rods bearing them in place of the fingers upon which they might eventually rest. No, what really drew his attention was the massive force, pushing inward on his chest, his entire body. Squeezing him in place; making it nearly impossible for him to breath. He stumbled back a few steps.

In an only mildly strained voice, Delenn stated, "You are being held by a force of two Minbari gravities. You will swear, here and now, that you will never again mention the Grey Council in my presence." When he grimaced, about to speak, the force suddenly increased. "Three gravities," she noted, as he grabbed at his chest, still struggling to take a breath. "Six would crush your ribs to jelly, and explode your heart. Four gravities." Pressing his hand to his chest, G'Kar struggled against the invisible force for several long moments. "Five," she spat.

"Alright," he squeaked out, the noise barely discernible.

The pressure disappeared almost immediately as Delenn lowered her hand. "I suggest you leave now."

"Oh, Delenn," G'Kar gasped, attempting to collect himself. "Oh, Delenn. You had a chance for mercy, and you threw it away. Whatever happens now," he panted, "let it be on your own head." He turned, beginning to stumble out of the room.

"I have been advised that your shuttle has an interstellar communications unit," Delenn called out to his turned back. "I suggest you use it to contact your government and advise them of the situation. They will need to act soon if they are going to keep your nonmilitary and planetside assets out of the conflict, and a vessel that small will take days just to reach the local jumpgate."

He turned back, looking at her in confusion. "The Chad'rasha Narn will take less than a day to reach our fleet base."

"But you won't be taking it," she corrected him. "We destroyed your dreadnought several minutes ago. You may have felt the weapons fire. For that matter, by the time you launch your shuttle, the assault on your fleet base will likely have begun. You should get to watch the whole thing. Oh, while I am thinking of it, do not bother playing games with your beacons as the humans did. While we were chasing down the humans, we took the time to lay down our own, separate beacon chains throughout local space. There is no place in Vree, Drazi, or Narn space which is not open to us."

Now it was Delenn who turned to leave, but G'Kar paid her no mind. Realizing what was about to befall his government and his people, he dropped to his knees and howled at the ceiling. Moments later, a pair of Minbari Warriors entered the room, picking up G'Kar and dragging him back to his shuttle. They had barely closed his hatch before the tractor beam was picking up his small vessel and tossing him out into space, amidst the scattered and drifting wreckage of the once mighty Chad'rasha Narn. Bare moments later, the Minbari cruiser tore open a hole in space, taking its leave through the spinning reddish vortex. Just a few seconds after that, his long range comms and sensors began picking up the telltale signs of the Minbari assault on the fleet base. Delenn was true to her word. He got to watch the whole thing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **The Refugee Fleet**

 _Man, I love the night shift_ , the young officer thought to himself as he wandered the halls of the slumbering warship. Of course, no ship was ever truly asleep. Crew duties like conning and maintenance continued day in and day out. But, at this hour, the lights were dimmed, and the bulk of the crew would be racked out.

He slowed his steps a bit. Lieutenant Kevin Riley was a dutiful officer, but he didn't want to show up early. That always made shift change a little bit awkward. Still, it would be just a few more minutes now, and he would get to be _the man_. He'd be stepping into the saddle and grabbing the reins of the flagship of the fleet, with firepower that boggled his imagination. Theoretically, while the Old Man was sleeping and he was in charge, he'd even have authority over the other ships of the fleet, which had all synchronized their 'nighttime' hours. It was a godlike feeling, and he simply couldn't get enough of it.

Right on time, he strolled in and assumed command, wandering amongst the duty stations, getting a feel for how things were going this evening. He couldn't help but smile. He loved the night shift. Even better, these days the primary stressor of the job, the worry that you might end up being in charge of the end of the human race, seemed to have vanished. There had been no sign of enemy pursuit or action for weeks. It was really starting to look like they had successfully escaped.

Relaxing into the duty shift, he began to do the requisite paperwork. Hell, he even loved paperwork. Most officers hated it, but it just made him feel even more in command. He peacefully spent the next couple of hours reviewing and filing reports about the water reclamation facilities and requisitions of janitorial supplies. Far and away the biggest issue on the shift reports was the status of the ongoing work on the drive. Given the apparent lack of pursuit, they had taken the opportunity to pull the jump drive offline for some badly needed maintenance. It was a risk, but a necessary one, given the mounting stresses and wear that had been put on that drive. Of course, work on such a crucial system was top priority, and repair crews would be working twenty four-seven until it was back online.

"Contact!" The call rang out across the room, cutting off all conversation with the efficiency of a razor.

Shocked, Riley looked up at the display, and its looming designation of an unknown target directly ahead of them.

 _Impossible. There's no way the enemy could have gotten in front of us. Not and kept us unaware they were out there._ Shaking himself out of the surreal feeling which had overcome him, he called out in a crisp, clear voice. "Take it easy people. Let's not get spooked over a possible sensor ghost. What do we know?"

Ensign Randi Janica, standing watch as Tactical Officer, a young woman whom he had always found attractive, responded professionally. "Unidentified contact, Sir. Bearing…" she paused as the screens updated. "Correction two contacts…" A pause. "No, five." She gasped as contacts, still designated as unknown, began popping up like raindrops across the forward vectors. Stunned, she continued to report, although with the soft voice she now used, it seemed to be an internal conversation with herself, rather than a vital communication with a superior officer. "There's dozens of them." She squeaked, her breathing accelerating. "Hu...hundreds. Varying sizes, I think."

Riley rocked backwards, hunching up as though gut punched. _Impossible_ , he thought numbly. _There's no way a pursuit force that large could have gotten this close without us getting some warning from our long range patrols, much less in front of us. This can't be happening._ And then the screens swarmed with fresh contacts; appearing as though spat out and moving rapidly towards the fleet.

"Over a hundred new contacts," Janica said, her fear obvious in both voice and eyes.

He stared numbly at the screens for a bare moment. "I know a fighter launch when I see one," he whispered to himself. He wanted to flee, but the jump drive was down, and over a dozen ships in the fleet were in the same condition. Lack of enemy activity had lured them into a false sense of security. With that many enemy ships...they were doomed. But, he was an officer with a duty to perform, and that duty was clear. He would do his duty.

Grabbing the nearest handset, he raised it to his mouth, the cord banging repeatedly against his forearm, and keyed the intercom for a shipwide broadcast. "Action Stations, Action Stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Repeat, Action Stations, Action Stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Launch the alert squadron." He paused for a moment, then continued. "Admiral Adama to the CIC."

Dropping the handset back into its cradle as the alarms began their warbling buzz, he gave the DRADIS one more baleful glance. _Gods, I hate the night shift._ Finally, no longer able to control himself, he slammed both fists down onto the plotting table in front of him, then spat a single word. " _FRAK!_ "


	21. Part 2,Chapter 19-Strangers in the Night

**Part 2 - A Dream Given Form**

Chapter 19 - Strangers in the Night

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 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet - July, 2249**

"Sit-Rep!" the Admiral barked striding into the room.

Lieutenant Gaeta must have only arrived moments before him, but had already sorted through all of the relevant details. "We've got well over a hundred unknown ships of varying sizes coming right at us. DRADIS is having a hard time identifying them, but at least some of them must be Basestars, because we've got a clear Raider launch and assault in progress. The CAP and ready squadrons are already in place. The rest of our Vipers are launching now. Pegasus reports that they've already gotten the last of their birds into space."

"How long until we can jump?"

"This attack came at the worst possible time, Sir. We've got multiple ships with jump drives offline. We're looking at a couple of hours, minimum. The Galactica herself won't be jump capable for at least half an hour."

"Move faster. And shut off that damned alarm. How many Raiders are we looking at, Mr. Gaeta?"

"About a hundred, Admiral." His hand moved, flipping a switch and killing the noise of the alarm in the CIC, though it could still be heard from out in the adjoining corridors.

Adama shot the young officer a pointed look. "A Cylon fleet of that size should have put out a hell of a lot more Raiders than that, even if they aren't all Basestars. And what the hell else would they be?"

"I don't know, Admiral. Perhaps we've stumbled onto the Cylon equivalent of civilian infrastructure? A Resurrection ship, power, fuel, and mining vessels...maybe even simple residential lodging."

Adama grunted. "The Cylon equivalent to our fleet? That would be a sight. But it would certainly be guarded by enough Basestars to put out a hell of a lot more than a hundred Raiders." He looked over at Petty Officer Duala. "Are we picking up any comms chatter?"

"Nothing on known Colonial or Cylon frequencies. Nothing but our own ships. We should be picking up something from the Cylons, but it's all quiet," she responded, confusion and concern chasing each other across her face.

Adama regard the crowded DRADIS display with dissatisfaction. He needed answers. "Who's in command out there?"

"Captain Thrace was out with the CAP, Admiral," Gaeta offered. "She consolidated the CAP and ready squadrons into a defensive line until the rest of our Vipers could finish launching and forming up."

Without a word, Adama reached over and picked up the handset, stretching the cord as he pulled it to his face. He then nodded a silent command to Dualla, knowing she would understand his intention to speak personally with the Viper pilot currently in the hot seat. Upon her return nod, he spoke, "CAP, Galactica Actual. Do you read me, Starbuck?"

"I read you, Galactica," came the chipper response from the one pilot he would have wished to be out there in this crisis. Perhaps the gods were smiling on them today. Maybe they'd even make it out of this alive. "Sorry to disturb your beauty rest, Admiral. The frakking Cylons should learn to be more considerate."

"That's alright, Starbuck. It wouldn't have done me any good anyway. I need you to do a job for me. This Cylon fleet isn't behaving like a Cylon fleet. I need you to take whatever Vipers you have with you and push forward rapidly. Recon in force."

"Get a good look then report back in and run like hell?"

"Then report back in and await orders. I might need you to perform additional recon or even a spoiler attack."

"Will do, Admiral. We'll keep 'em off your backs."

"Thank you, Starbuck. Galactica Actual, out."

Just as Adama was signing off with Starbuck, Colonel Tigh strode into the room, silently assessing the situation, before walking up to stand next to his Admiral. "I thought we'd finally lost these frakking Cylons."

Adama glanced over at him, then pitched his voice low, for only Tigh to hear. "I don't know Saul. Something's not right here. They're not acting like Cylons. They've launched fighters, but far too few, and they haven't attacked yet. DRADIS is also reading a bizarre mix of shapes and sizes over there, and can't get a good read. So far, we've only seen the Cylons in a couple of models of Base Stars and their Resurrection ships. Gaeta thinks we might be looking at dozens of different classes here."

Tigh thought for a moment, then asked, voice also pitched low, "You think it might be another Colonial refugee fleet? Maybe even with another Battlestar or two? I wouldn't mind having another Mercury class around, so long as it didn't come with another Admiral Cain."

"I thought about that, but at this range we should long since have picked up on their IFF transponders...military _or_ civilian. We're getting nothing on Colonial or Cylon frequencies. Go suggest to Petty Officer Dualla that she perform a broad spectrum analysis, looking for transmissions on unusual bandwidths."

As Tigh went to converse with the young Sagittaron, Lieutenant Gaeta waived for Adama's attention. "Admiral, a group of the enemy's fighters has broken off and are moving to intercept Captain Thrace's recon element."

Adama didn't hesitate. He grabbed up the handset again and checked to ensure that it was still on the previous channel. "Starbuck, Galactica Actual. Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Admiral."

"Starbuck, you're about to have company." He took a deep breath, then continued. "Do not fire unless fired upon." The order, spoken in his usual clear and commanding voice, brought silence to the CIC as all eyes swiveled towards him. "Push through and get a good look at that fleet. Stay in contact and keep us apprised every step of the way."

There was a moderately long pause, filled with the static that always seemed to seep into their communication systems. Finally, she responded. "Acknowledged, Galactica. I'll give you the play by play."

Nodding, Adama turned his attention to incoming reports on the progress towards restarting the jump drives. It wasn't promising. The tension in the room continued to climb, as the DRADIS showed the two groups of fighters sweeping closer and closer, until they were practically on top of each other.

Finally, Starbuck reported in. "Galactica, this is Starbuck. I'm not sure what these things are, but they aren't Raiders, and they don't look like Colonial craft either. They look like some sort of bastardized cross between a Viper and a Raptor. I don't think they want to let us through. They're on a direct intercept course...FRAK!"

"Starbuck, report!" Adama snapped, still cradling the handset. "Are you under fire?"

There was an interminable pause, until she finally responded. "Negative, Galactica, but they _really_ don't want to let us pass. They set a direct intercept ramming course, and decided to see which of us would blink first. I'm not sure who won, but both formations are blown to hell, and we're all knotted up. Every time I try to push ahead, another one puts itself in my way."

Another voice broke in on the line. "Galactica, Kat. This one's trying to lock me up. Do I have permission to fire?"

"No!" Starbuck shouted, at the same time as Adama snapped, "Do not fire unless fired upon!"

The next several moments were interspersed with the grunts of pilots pulling high-G maneuvers, and frantic chatter as attempts at forward progress were blocked again and again. "Galactica," came Starbuck's voice, "I've had close passes on a few of their cockpits and gotten a good look inside. If they're skinjobs they aren't any models that I've seen. We might be looking at the final five models, but so far I haven't seen any duplicates."

"Starbuck," Adama said, "I know you're a fan of Pyramid. Do you remember the zone sweep maneuver?"

"Of course. Your teammates pull into a tight blocking wedge and push into the opposition, hopefully allowing you to maneuver around the knot and break out into the open with an open shot."

"Do you think your pilots could pull off something like that?"

There was a pause as Starbuck thought for a moment. "We'll give it a try." There was a significant delay as Starbuck organized the maneuver, the pilots continuing to struggle in their bloodless dogfight all the while, while Kat again requested permission to fire. But soon enough, Starbuck had her pilots in position. "Now!" came her shout, followed moments later by, "I'm clear! Going to maximum burn for their fleet. I'll get a good look for you, Admiral."

"The blocking fighters are giving chase," Gaeta called out. "There's another group of fighters and small ships setting up a secondary blocking line ahead of her. She should still get close enough to get some good images."

"Admiral," Dualla called out.

"Closing in on visual range now," Starbuck reported, her voice straining through the compounded G forces. "There's more fighters coming out to meet me. I can just see... _damn_ , that's a lot of ships."

"Admiral," Dualla called out again, a bit louder this time.

"Later," he responded to her, never taking his attention from the DRADIS display and Starbuck's commentary.

"They look civilian, mostly. Lot's of different varieties. Looks like some kind of Battlestar in the lead... _frak_ those are big guns."

" _Admiral!_ " Dualla practically shouted.

"Petty Officer Dualla..." Adama barked, rounding on her. He cut off as she immediately flipped a switch and a disembodied voice began to speak mid-sentence over the speakers of the CIC, grabbing everyone's attention.

"I just picked this up, Admiral. It's on a frequency the Colonies haven't used in a few hundred years. Even then, it was used for things like garage door openers and speed guns, not comms. The signal itself is pretty basic, not encrypted at all, but uses data protocol and modulation unlike anything I've ever seen before."

She paused as the voice came to the end of what it was saying, and started over. "This is Commodore John Sheridan aboard the Earth Force ship Nova. We represent the Earth Alliance, and come in peace. Please identify yourself and state your intentions. Be warned, any aggression will be met with deadly force. Please do not let it come to that. We would much rather be your friends than your enemies." He sounded quite young, to Adama's ears.

There was a pause, and the voice began to repeat itself, apparently on a continuous loop.

Dualla began speaking again, right over the top of it. "I wouldn't have had a chance of decrypting it; their comms protocols are _nothing_ like our own. But, it contains an embedded signal, a key, which seems to be designed to give anyone listening the information they'd need to interpret the signal. Our decryption software ate it up. It also helps that they're speaking Caprican...somehow."

Silence reigned in the CIC, save for the still looping voice of this Commodore Sheridan, and Starbuck's occasional commentary as she was met and pushed back by the second line of fighters, and some additional small military craft she was calling gunboats. Adama slowly raised the handset back to his face. Stunned, his hand had dropped to his hip as he had listened to the message from...from people who _might_ just be from Earth. "Starbuck. Gather your recon force and pull back to the primary defensive line."

"Admiral?"

"Just do it, Kara. This is one encounter we don't want to frak up. And tell Kat that if she requests fire permission again without bullet holes in her craft, she'll be spending time in the brig." He hung up the handset, and turned back to Dualla. "Petty Officer. Can we transmit using the...unknown fleet's frequency and signal protocol?"

"Our systems weren't designed for it, Admiral. But, I believe I have made the necessary modifications. I'd appreciate it if Lieutenant Gaeta double checked the work."

Adama nodded to the Lieutenant, who sprinted over to review the adjustments Dualla had made. It took only a moment, and then Gaeta raised his head and nodded. Adama took several long breaths, then ordered, "begin broadcast." He picked up the handset then began, "This is Admiral Adama aboard the Battlestar Galactica. I represent the Twelve Colonies. Our intentions are not hostile. We will defend ourselves if provoked, but we also come in peace."

Lowering the handset so that it would no longer pick up his words, he turned back to Gaeta. "Lieutenant, you better get the President over here. Immediately." He was turning back to the plotting table when his attention was grabbed, along with everyone else's, by the looping voice of Commodore Sheridan suddenly cutting off.

With a momentary squeal, it was replaced by his live voice. "Admiral Adama, on behalf of my people and all of the children of Earth, I greet you in peace at this first contact of our peoples. It is my hope that we can turn this meeting into a lasting peace and friendship."

"Commodore, Sheridan," Adama responded, raising the handset once more, "that is my hope as well. On behalf of all of the people of the Twelve Colonies, we welcome this meeting."

"I've got to tell you, Admiral," Sheridan responded with a chuckle, "my officers over here are very excited. Your computer systems must be very advanced to allow you to communicate in English so quickly."

Adama shared a confused look with Tigh, then responded, "Actually, we're speaking Caprican. But my Communications officer said that your signal seemed custom designed to allow our...fairly limited computers to interpret it. Perhaps that is what you are picking up on."

There was a pause, and this time the Commodore's words came tinged with suspicion. "Admiral...the Twelve Colonies of where, exactly?"

Adama was still looking directly into his friend's face, so he watched as the increasing confusion was joined by a small amount of alarm. He felt it himself, but didn't allow it to touch his voice. "Kobol. The Twelve Colonies of Kobol, of course. We bid greeting to the Thirteenth Tribe."

The pause was even longer this time. "I guess...we bid greeting to the Thirteenth Tribe as well. Is that some sort of ritual welcome? So you're Kobolians then?"

Adama stopped trying to hide his confusion. "No. I told you, we're from the Twelve Colonies."

"Ok, but what species are you?"

Adama simply lowered the handset, looking at Tigh in astonishment. "Are you hearing this, Saul?"

"But not believing it. What the frak is this guy talking about?"

With a helpless shrug, Adama raised the handset once more. "Human. Our people are human. Are you...are you asking if we're Cylons?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral. Perhaps your translation software is having some difficulties after all. It sounded like you said you were human. Followed by something...wait...are you called Cylons then?"

Lowering the handset yet again, Adama commanded, "Make sure all the guns are hot, and get those frakking jump engines online." Back to the handset, he continued, "No, Commodore, we are definitely _not_ Cylons. We're humans. We're from the Twelve Colonies."

"Which twelve colonies?" came the clearly confused response.

"Aerilon, Aquaria, Canceron, Caprica, Gemenon, Leonis, Libran, Picon, Sagittaron, Scorpia, Tauron, and Virgon," Adama rattled off.

"Listen buddy; I don't know if this is funny to you, but I know every single colony the Earth Alliance has ever founded, and those aren't on the list. But I also happen to know when some joker just takes the signs of the zodiac and twists their names a little bit."

"What the frak..." Adama took a deep breath. "Not colonies of Earth. I told you, we're the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Descendants of the twelve tribes who left that world thousands of years ago. Just as the Earth is the thirteenth colony. Descendants of the thirteenth tribe of Kobol."

"So that's your game? I guess I should warn you, Admiral. The Centauri already tried to pull the star brother routine about a century back."

Adama finally gave up. He had no idea what the frak this crazy Commodore was talking about. "Perhaps...perhaps this conversation would go easier if we met in person?"  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

.

"Earth Force shuttle on final approach." The announcement from Flight Pod Traffic Control crackled from the speakers in the dingy waiting room, ringing loudly in the nearly silent atmosphere. Despite how crowded the room was, everyone seemed disinclined to chat as they tensely awaited their visitors' arrival. Some wore their fears plainly on their faces. Others bore an almost painful look of hope. Most just craned their necks, eagerly awaiting their first sight of a craft from the thirteenth tribe.

When it finally came into view, a murmur of quiet conversation swept through the room. Bill, however, felt almost disappointed. It was hardly different than any number of shuttles he had seen plying Colonial space. He leaned over to Starbuck and asked, "You're certain those vessels out there couldn't be Colonial ships the Cylons gathered up?"

Starbuck grimaced and shook her head. "I don't think so, Admiral. There are a lot of ships out there unlike anything I've ever seen before. Particularly their Battlestars. From what I saw, rather than utilizing flight pods, they've integrated flight operations into the main body of the ship. Their Battlestar on point had a large hangar opening sticking right out of the bow."

Tigh grunted. "Damned stupid idea, if you ask me. If that hangar eats a nuke or even a few Cylon boarding parties, you've gone and lost your whole frakkin' ship."

The shuttle was just entering the flight pod, still fairly high up above the landing runway. Adama watched as it slowly began to reconfigure, landing gear cracking out of the formerly seamless lower hull. Well before the transition was complete, the shuttle suddenly seemed to wobble, then abruptly dropped like a rock. It crunched down on it's not yet fully deployed landing gear, mangling them and continuing downward until its fuselage slammed into the flight deck. The impact apparently sprung several of the vessel's pressure seals, as small white plumes of escaping atmosphere sprung forth from several locations.

The room went deathly silent, everyone stunned by the unexpected event, until Chief Tyrol cursed and slammed his hand down on the emergency alarm, then sprinted from the room. Immediately, klaxons could be heard blaring from every nearby speaker, and yellow flashing emergency lights came on throughout the flight deck. The emergency vehicles almost belatedly surged forward, making their way towards the downed shuttle. Shaking himself out of his momentary shock, Tigh grabbed up the nearest handset and contacted the CIC. "Retract the flight pods immediately. The moment they're sealed I need an emergency repressurization of the flight deck." Apparently the officer on the other end of the line balked at that, because Saul then shouted, "Screw the damned safety regs! You get atmosphere in that pod, unless you want to explain to that fleet out there why their Commodore died trying to suck vacuum!" He took a deep breath, then continued in a quieter tone, "Don't do it yet, but better get ready to relaunch our Vipers. Given what just happened, the Earthers might decide we double crossed them either way."

Adama never took his eyes off of the downed craft, though he had carefully followed Colonel Tigh's conversation, and had noted as the flight pods had begun to retract. A quick glance towards President Roslin showed her deep into a hurried conversation with her aide. No doubt she was issuing similar preparatory orders, in case the worst happened. Bill prayed to the gods that it would not, but his prayers had a pretty poor track record. Still, he maintained a calm, stoic face; a rock in the center of the storm. No agitated running around for him. He needed to show the crew that everything was under control; that the Old Man was still in charge. So, instead, he spent his time analyzing the situation, trying to figure out just what had gone wrong, and coming to some uncomfortable realizations. And the moment the atmospheric indicator lights on the flight deck turned green, he would open the nearby hatch and go out himself to check on their visitors.

The pod finished retracting with a dull boom, and debris was kicked up all over the flight deck, as atmosphere was pumped in at an emergency rate. A few moments later, still waiting, he felt Tigh's familiar presence over his right shoulder. Roslin also strode up, both having apparently finished their conversations. It was Saul who spoke first. "What the frak just happened?

Roslin apparently had been planning to ask the same question, because she simply nodded her head. Unfortunately, Bill was fairly certain he had an answer. He looked around to make certain they wouldn't be overheard, but the room had mostly emptied out. Everyone had left or been sent away to see to various tasks necessitated by the emergency. "They dropped the moment they entered the pod's artificial gravity field. They weren't expecting it."

Tigh swore again. "Which means they probably don't even frakkin' _have_ the technology. That explains all the major ships with spinning sections Starbuck reported on."

He seemed about to say more, but Roslin broke in. "Is that important?"

Adama used the opportunity to both explain and try to clarify his own thoughts. "We've had artificial gravity technology for centuries. It advanced over the years, until taking a hit during the Cylon War...just like every other technology. But these days, very few ships go without it. Those that do, like the two or three we have in the fleet, use centrifugal spin to simulate gravity. They do so either for extreme fuel economy, or more likely as an eccentricity. A quaint little toy for someone with more money than sense to show off. If I'm right and they don't have artificial gravity... Starbuck reported on a significant number of ships in their fleet having rotating sections. But it wasn't all of them. Not even the majority."

"Good gods," Tigh swore yet again, "half their damned fleet could be suffering from null grav."

At Roslin's confused look, Adama again explained. "Extended withdrawal from a gravity field causes the human body to break down. Bones and muscles deteriorate. There's a whole litany of medical issues that pop up. Even a few weeks without gravity can be detrimental. You can combat the decay with drugs and exercise, but the best remedy is a gravity field, natural or artificial. Or, barring that, spin generated centrifugal force. Anything else only slows down the effects. So yes, a high percentage of those Earthers could be fragile compared to our own people."

The atmospheric indicators turned green, and Bill strode forward. Saul beat him to the hatch, hauling it open just in time for Bill to step through, marching for the downed shuttle. Tigh and Roslin kept pace with him, so he continued the explanation, though in a significantly louder voice on the now noisy flight deck. "But it's worse than that. Assuming a lack of artificial gravity, the fact that _all_ of their ships don't have spin is troubling. It indicates that either they have trouble manufacturing the equipment, or perhaps that they have just recently invented the process. And that's technology we've had for millennia...since all the way back to Kobol."

"The Thirteenth Tribe came from Kobol as well," the President argued. "They should have had spin technology just as long as we have."

"Unless they threw it away," he responded. "Unless they imposed limits on themselves for religious or cultural reasons. Imagine the Sagitarrons trying to develop spaceflight in the absence of the rest of the Twelve Colonies. How long would it take them? What would it look like? Regardless of the reason, what we have here is a fairly strong indicator that Earth technology is significantly less advanced than our own."

"Not certain, though?" Roslin pressed.

"No, not yet. It's something we will have to watch and evaluate, but I'd bet money on it."

" _Frak_ ," Tigh growled. "What are these people even doing in space? The Cylons will tear through them like a wet paper sack."

They arrived at the shuttle, which was surrounded by emergency personnel, ready to provide aid. Those personnel, including Chief Tyrol, were being waved and shouted back by a group of what were clearly security officers, spilling out of the open hatch of the shuttle. Adama quickly scanned their faces. None of them were of any known Cylon models, nor matched each other. That would basically double the number of models of which they were aware, and exceed the twelve the Cylons were supposed to have. So, odds were that these people really were who they said they were. Bill released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

The security officers seemed to be armed, and their weapons were drawn, but those guns, if that's what they were, looked bizarre enough that his people didn't seem to be taking them seriously. Tigh confirmed this by leaning over and chuckling, "Are those men carrying toys? They look like party favors! Maybe tazers or pepper spray?"

"We have no idea what those weapons are, or what they are capable of, except that they clearly _are_ weapons," Bill admonished. Barking out in his best command voice, he snapped, "Back off people! Give them some space!"

As his people finally began to back up, he saw that someone had finally emerged to take charge of the Earther security. The young officer, roughly Lee's age, shouted at them to calm down and holster their weapons, which they seemed reluctant to do. Ignoring Adama's orders to back up, Roslin charged in and strode up to the flustered young man. "Officer, I'm President Laura Roslin." He barely had time to acknowledge her before she was continuing, "I hope you realize that this was an accident, and not some kind of attack on your people. We have no hostile intentions towards you. Can you convey that to Commodore Sheridan?" The officer seemed suddenly uncomfortable, but Roslin had no intention of letting up. "Will the Commodore be emerging soon? I hope he realizes he's perfectly safe here. He wasn't injured in the crash, I hope?"

As the young man appeared more uncomfortable at the grilling, Tigh chuckled and said, "Seems one thing we have in common is junior officers not knowing how to react to civilian brass."

As more of the shuttle's crew and passengers emerged, Bill came to a sudden realization. Striding forward, he interrupted Roslin's latest attempt to dig information out of the recalcitrant young officer. He held out his hand. "Commodore Sheridan. Admiral William Adama. Welcome aboard."

Taking Bill's hand in a firm grip, the young Commodore shook it, a sideways glance seeming to show amusement at the President's sudden silence. "It's a pleasure to be aboard, Admiral. We planned to go through a formal coming aboard ceremony, but we seem to have made a mess all over your deck. My apologies for that."

"That's all right, Commodore. These things happen." Taking a chance, he asked, "Weren't prepared for the artificial gravity?"

"Caught us completely by surprise. We haven't figured that tech out yet...but we're working on it. To be honest, the scientists that I brought along were so excited about the artificial gravity, I don't think they had time to think about almost dying in a crash. Oh, and we managed to safe the reactor, so you don't need to worry about the shuttle exploding or anything."

Bill nodded. Noticing that the original welcome party had mostly reassembled behind him, he half turned and said, "Allow me to introduce you to some of our people. You've already met President Laura Roslin." He watched as the young officer gave her a shallow nod, otherwise saying nothing. Laura didn't look pleased. "This is my XO, Colonel Saul Tigh. Our CAG, Captain Kara Thrace, call sign Starbuck. Our Chief Medical Officer, Major Sherman Cottle. Senior Chief Galen Tyrol, head of deck crews and senior noncom aboard the Galactica. And our civilian scientific advisor, Dr. Gaius Baltar." He did not mention that Baltar was currently running against Roslin for President, in an election that seemed just around the corner. He had given _very_ specific instructions to Baltar, on pain of being tossed out an airlock, that no mention of politics would be allowed.

Sheridan went down the line, shaking each hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. Allow me to introduce my own officers." He brought Adama to a similar group of officers which had gathered behind him. Only one appeared any older than the Commodore. "My XO, Commander Laurel Takashima. Our Head of Fleet Security, Colonel Michael Garibaldi. Our Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Commander Stephen Franklin. Our CAG, Commander Alfred Bester. Captain Sandra Levitt, commanding officer of the Heavy Cruiser Lexington. And one of our chief scientific and xenocultural advisors, Dr. Maxwell Eilerson." As he went down the line, shaking hands, Adama noted that several of the officers carried bumps and bruises, but none had suffered any broken bones. That was unfortunately not true for several of the security personnel and shuttle crew, who were being brought out and made comfortable upon the deck. Dr. Franklin clearly wanted to attend to them, but just as clearly had been ordered not too. A medic who was part of the crew seemed to be doing a competent job though. As Adama shook the final hand, Sheridan noted, "I should advise you that Commander Bester is a teep. I hope that won't be a problem."

Not having any idea what that meant, but not wishing to get into their internal divisions just yet, Adama simply said, "You're all welcome here. I'd like to take this conversation someplace a bit more comfortable. We have numerous conference rooms aboard the Galactica, but I've picked out some place a bit more comfortable. Chief Tyrol, please lead the way."

As the visitors moved off, Adama held back for a moment, and Roslin and Tigh stepped up next to him. "Thoughts?" he asked.

"Children," Tigh blurted. "Their whole gods damned fleet is run by a bunch of children."

"Most of them were about Apollo's age," Laura countered. "If we trust him to run a Battlestar, I don't see why people his age couldn't run a fleet. How bad could it be?"

Grunting, Bill responded, "We're about to find out." He strode off after their visitors, his XO and the President of the Colonies in tow.  
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Bill had chosen his own quarters as the most comfortable and welcoming location to hold this important meeting, and Roslin had not argued. He had asked Petty Officer Dualla to attend as a steward; serving drinks and meals and attending to other needs, but primary hosting duties would still fall to him. However, as the party began filing into the room, Lieutenant Gaeta popped around a nearby corner carrying a small stack of flimsies. It was obvious the Lieutenant wanted a word, so he hung back a moment as everyone else made their way in. "Mr. Gaeta. Make it quick."

"I'll be brief, Admiral, but I thought you'd want to see these." Handing over the stack of flimsies, he continued, "This ship is at the tail of the Earther fleet. We've been so busy analyzing the images Starbuck brought back of all of their ships that we hadn't gotten around to triangulating the positions of each ship from multiple images. So, we didn't realize how far off this one was until DRADIS finally got a solid lock. It's massive, Sir. Over six thousand meters in length."

Adama raised his brow in surprise as he studied the images of the massive Earth vessel. Perhaps Earth technology didn't lag quite as far behind as he had feared. _The Colonies built plenty of structures that size. But we didn't make them mobile. At least, not since..._ "Is it armed?"

"We've identified several weapons emplacements, but they're all quite small for its size. Certainly nothing like the Battlestar they have on point. Maybe it's just a well protected civilian ship."

Adama grunted and handed back the stack. "Good work, Lieutenant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go play diplomat."

"Of course, Admiral."

As Gaeta made his way back to the CIC, Adama entered his room to find Dualla already pouring drinks, while everyone else sat in tense silence. The President had apparently been waiting for him, because the moment he entered she rose and offered, "I'd like to take a moment to welcome our new friends from Earth, and to offer my best wishes that this association be long and fruitful. And, on a personal note, let me say how meaningful it is that here is this empty system, far from any of the worlds our birth, and for the first time in over four thousand years, we once again have brought together people from all thirteen of the tribes of Kobol."

Commodore Sheridan glanced around at his people. They all looked a bit uncomfortable, shuffling around in their seats. His final glance was to the single older gentleman in their midst...Commander Bester, if Adama recalled his name correctly. The man gave a single, shallow nod, and Sheridan seemed to relax a little, though his look of confusion increased. Finally, he spoke. "Madame President. Admiral. As I've already noted, while we are from Earth and her colonies, we aren't descendants of some thirteenth tribe. We've never even heard of Kobol, and the whole idea is...well we're fairly certain it's impossible. But we also know you aren't lying. I'm not sure exactly how, but my best guess is that we must be having a misunderstanding or miscommunication of some sort. I'm not sure how that's possible, given that you speak English. Which they tell me should also be impossible, by the way. Unless you had it when you colonized? Or picked it up recently as a trade tongue?"

Adama was closely watching their visitors. They seemed to be really worried about such an inane question. Why would that be? "We're speaking Caprican, not English. It's a recent language, not one we've had since colonization. But yes, it's a trade tongue."

His words seemed to relax their visitors. But then Baltar felt the need to offer, "In fact, it's basically been the lingua franca of the Twelve Colonies for a little over three hundred years. But it's origin was some fifteen centuries before that."

Those words seemed to agitate the Earthers all over again. "That's impossible," Sheridan muttered, mostly to himself. He then glanced again at Commander Bester (if he was a Commander, and Adama was beginning to suspect otherwise) and again received that shallow nod. There was definitely something going on there. Louder, Sheridan stated, "I'm sorry, but from what our history and science tells us, what you're saying should be impossible. For humans to be out here for eighteen centuries..."

"Four millenia," Baltar corrected, and Bill felt the need to reach out and strangle the man. "The Colonies were settled over four millenia ago."

Sheridan just nodded. "Yes, well, that should be impossible. I know you're not lying, but there's got to be some sort of mistake or miscommunication here somewhere. Maybe we could start by eliminating one of the obvious possibilities...that perhaps we mean different things when we say 'human.' If it's alright with you, we'd like to run a little test. Dr. Franklin has brought the necessary equipment. It's all on our shuttle. He would just need to draw a tiny amount of blood, under the supervision of your Dr. Cottle, of course. Shortly after that, we'll know if you are human as we would define the word, or..."

"Or _what_?" Tigh spoke up suspiciously, clearly sensing some sort of threat.

"Or...something else," Sheridan finished lamely.

"Like hell," Tight snapped. "You think you can just come in here and start demanding..."

"Agreed," Bill called out, raising his voice to override Saul, who cut off in surprise. "You can draw my blood. On one condition. We have our own test, which Dr. Baltar will administer. It will tell us if you're really human...or if you're Cylon."

"I'll provide whatever sample you need," Sheridan agreed. "But, what's a Cylon?"

"Maybe we should run the tests first. And there's no need for you to provide a sample. You've got plenty of bleeding and injured men who should be in our infirmary by now. Easier if we just test them." He didn't mention that he didn't trust that Sheridan, offering to provide genetic samples, wasn't a Colonial scooped up by the Cylons just for the purpose of testing as human.

"Right," Baltar said standing, seeming embarrassed. "I'll, uhhh, I'll go see to that, shall I?" He waved vaguely in the direction of his lab and, receiving no response, walked out. Adama really didn't trust the shifty little man, but he was all they had.

Dr. Franklin approached with a small device, which he offered to Dr. Cottle to inspect. Having done so, Cottle passed it back, and Franklin pressed the device to Adama's uniformed shoulder. There was a slight pinch and a hiss, and Bill assumed the sample was taken. Tigh really didn't look happy over the matter, but chose not to protest. Instead, he nodded to Cottle, "Why don't you escort Dr. Franklin back to the Earth shuttle, so he can run his tests?"

After the doctors had left, no one seemed inclined to discuss any matters of import until the results were in. They tried to pass the time with small talk. Sports fell flat. The Earthers seemed to have dozens of different sports, none of which seemed to match Pyramid, and none of them seemed particularly interesting. It was hard to talk about the weather, given it was always vacuum outside. And there was _absolutely_ no way he would let them get started on politics or religion. That left a lot of awkward silences, and occasional forays into the military experience. As it turned out, they had a lot in common there. Though the Earther rank structure was _bizarre_. Placing _Captain_ between Commander and Admiral? It was unnatural. And Colonel seemed to be a rank equivalent to Captain, on a _parallel_ track of rank advancement. How the hell did they keep all of that straight?

Their ship classifications were nearly as bad. "Dreadnought?" he asked, tasting the bizarre word for the first time. It had an archaic feel, though the connotation was obvious. A powerful ship with nothing to fear from anyone. He preferred the term Battlestar, which was much more inspirational. He had to admit though, that over the past decades the term had become watered down, being applied to ships which should have carried lesser designations. At least these people called a cruiser a cruiser. The idea of having a dedicated carrier though...it gave him chills. If the Cylons jumped in right on top of it, it wouldn't last long enough to get off the first bird. Of course, that was no worse than putting the flight deck in the middle of the main body of the ship. He suspected that the Earth military simply wasn't as professional or effective as the Colonial military had been. Not that he was going to say that out loud. There was no point in offending their visitors.

"It's an ancient term from our waterborne navies. There was some push to designate vessels of that category as battleships...a fair match for your battlestars, I guess. But, that term had a fair bit of historical baggage associated with it, and the brass chose to go with the more colorful term."

Bill nodded his understanding. He then had to suppress a wince as Tigh poured himself another glass. The man was doing a passable job keeping the guests entertained, but the effects of the booze were starting to show, and it wasn't acceptable to give _that_ kind of impression to the Earthers. Besides, his personal stocks were far from bottomless, and he'd be damned if he let Saul drink them all. Trying to keep the conversation going, and shift attention away from Tigh, he asked, "So, is piloting part of your career track? I flew Vipers myself, during the war." Immediately, he silently cursed himself, wishing he could take back the words. He had been so anxious to take attention off of Tigh, he hadn't thought through what he was saying. 'War' had immediately grabbed everyone's attention.

Commodore Sheridan, however, seemed disinclined to break the unspoken agreement to stay off of touchy subjects for the time being. "Yes," he responded. "It's a preferred track. Nearly every one of my command staff...everyone here except for Dr. Franklin, and Dr. Eilerson of course, has significant stick time in Starfurys. Hell, most of us wish we had more time to spend piloting them now."

Baltar was the first to return. All eyes swiveled towards him as he entered the room. Not wanting to waste the opportunity of having everyone's undivided attention, he flourished the printout of his results. "I tested a half dozen of the Earth crew and security. Not a single Cylon. And, with all due respect to your Dr. Franklin, I also confirmed that you're as human as we are."

Sheridan nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. Franklin _should_ have checked in by now." Adama started as the Commodore touched a previously unnoticed device stuck to the back of his hand, then spoke into it. "Sheridan to Franklin. You almost done, Doctor?"

"Sorry, Commodore, I'll be just a bit longer. The results are rather...interesting, and I had to consult some of our historical and medical databases."

The response came through crystal clear, without any of the static that would be heard over most of their own systems. But that wasn't what was blazing through Bill's mind at that moment. He glanced around and saw similar devices attached to the hands of each of their visitors, and saw Saul taking similar stock. These people had brought clearly digital, wireless technology aboard _his_ ship. And given the number and relative capability of these devices, they were almost certainly networked. They had brought a _network_ aboard _his_ ship! Without so much as a second thought or a 'by your leave.' Under any other circumstances, he might be prepared to throw them in the brig or out an airlock. Saul appeared to be preparing to do just that. But this meeting was too important; and if these people weren't Cylons, they clearly hadn't met them either. He spoke up, before Saul could say something to make matters worse. "Ladies and gentlemen, I assume those devices are part of your standard gear. I'm going to have to ask you to shut them down, turn them off entirely, and if possible remove their power sources. I will not ask you to relinquish them. But no networked computers, or unauthorized wireless communication devices of any kind, are allowed on board the Galactica. I apologize for the...inconvenience...but this is a critical matter of security.

Several of the Earthers seemed ready to protest, but Sheridan studied him closely. Adama didn't flinch under that intense scrutiny, and instead studied him back. And again noticed when Sheridan glanced at Bester and received that tiny nod. It was followed by a much larger one from the Commodore. "Alright people, you heard the man. Links off, and pull the power cells. Admiral, our shuttle is routinely connected to the fleet. Do you need us to shut that down as well?"

Adama hesitated, then asked, "Is the shuttle armed?"

"No."

"You said you safed the reactor. Can it be restarted automatically by the computer...if it had the right codes?"

"No," Sheridan replied, his curiosity obviously piqued. "It's been manually shut down, and has to be restarted the same way."

Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Should be alright then."

"Does this have something to do with those Cylons you mentioned? Perhaps it's time you explained." Sheridan was clearly a patient man, but also a firm one. His gaze demanded answers. Adama found himself beginning to like the man...even if he was a fraud. But, he wasn't sure if he was ready to give those answers.

The decision was taken away from him when Roslin began to speak. "The Cylons were created by Man. They were created to make life easier on the Twelve Colonies. And then the day came when the Cylons decided to kill their masters. They rebelled."

Bill broke in. "The Cylons had become a part of everyday life. Trusted. Unsuspected. They served as workers, caretakers, protectors. They had become the sharp end of our military and the muscle of our law enforcement. When those you don't suspect...don't even think about...when they rise up and attack you….we were caught completely by surprise. The slaughter was horrific. And during that initial uprising, the Cylons crippled our military and made off with the cream of our military assets. Worse, the Cylons were far better with our computers and technology than we were. They used everything against us. Infrastructure tied into our computer grids broke down at critical moments, reactors exploded, vehicles rammed themselves into key people and places. We had to throw out and restrict the technologies which had become a core part of our society. We were losing...everything. And it was that, more than anything else, which finally allowed us to unite the Twelve Colonies. Instead of separate worlds, competing for wealth and dominance, we became one people. Humanity united. We rebuilt our military. Fought back desperately. Every day we became stronger. More assured of survival, if not victory."

Roslin took over the narrative again. "After a long and bloody struggle, an armistice was declared. The Cylons left for another world to call their own. A remote space station was built, where Cylon and human could meet and maintain diplomatic relations. Every year, we sent an officer. The Cylons sent no one. No one had seen or heard from the Cylons in over forty years."

"Until they came back and kicked us off our frackin' sleeping asses," Saul spat.

"After forty years, we had forgotten the lessons of the last war. The new leadership thought they were smarter than their predecessors from the war. Networks started going back into our military installations and vehicles. It was supposed to make us more efficient. More deadly. Network security had advanced. They promised that the Cylons wouldn't be able to hack us like they had in the past. Besides, no one had seen the Cylons in over forty years. It turns out, they were just waiting for us to make that same stupid mistake.

"Somehow...somehow they infiltrated our networks again...all of them. They came back, and when our military came out to meet them, our guns and fighters and ships...they just frakkin' shut down. We were slaughtered. Those of us who survived got to listen in as they nuked the Twelve Colonies into dust."

"We know how they got in," Roslin interrupted. "Somewhere along the line, the Cylons changed. They look and feel human. Some are programmed to think they _are_ human. They slipped right into the Colonies and destroyed us from the inside before the first nuke was even launched. Those of us lucky enough to be in space at the time, and not immediately come under direct attack...we gathered ourselves up and ran. The Colonies were lost. There was nothing left to do but try to preserve the species. We are out here, struggling to survive. Looking for a new home. But the Cylons are after us. They want nothing less than the complete and total extermination of mankind. We fight, just to survive another day."

During their account, the room had fallen into a deathly silence, all eyes riveted upon them. It was so quiet, Adama could hear the gentle susurration from the ventilation ducts.

Into that silence, Colonel Garibaldi said airily, "And then they sent Arnold back in time to kill your mother before you were even born. Don't worry though; he's naked, but _he'll be back_."

Commander Takashima, who had been cautiously sipping her liquor before the Colonel's pronouncement, snorted a good deal of it out through here nose. Bill winced in both sympathy and dismay at the wasted alcohol, as she clapped both hands to her face. Gasping and eyes watering, she attempted to suppress what was no doubt an excruciating sinus burn.

" _Michael!_ " Sheridan snapped.

"Oh, _come on_ , Commodore. You're not actually buying this claptrap, are you? John Connor here just gave us the plot to Terminator. And a dozen other B-list Twentieth and Twenty First century Sci-Fi franchises. Between that, the star-brothers thing, and colonies named after Zodiac symbols, it couldn't be more clear. This whole thing's a sham," he finished with a dark chuckle.

Bill felt the thunderheads darkening about his face, but could do nothing about them. In a dangerous voice, he asked, "Colonel, is there something about the deaths of fifty billion people you find _amusing_?"

Garibaldi stood, looking ready to walk out. "Sorry pops, I _ain't_ buying it. Self aware killer robots wearing meat suits?"

"We call them toasters," Saul spat out.

"Because if you fight them you're toast?" Captain Levitt guessed, trying to mollify tempers.

"No. Because the original metal bastards looked like frakkin' toasters. And because...well, it seemed like a decent insult."

Garibaldi raised an eyebrow. "You put effort into thinking up insults...for robots?"

"No! For _gods damned_ Cylons!" Saul took another drink and began muttering to himself, staring into his glass.

Garibaldi started to say something more, but Sheridan spat out, "Colonel, sit down and SHUT UP! Admiral, Madame President, friends, my sincerest apologies. Some of my officers have an unfortunate obsession with an ancient form of entertainment from Earth, which seems to leave them with some very strange ideas. But, between dreadnought sized warships and advanced gravitic technologies, you've got enough backing up your story that you deserve to be heard out." Sheridan made eye contact with him, and Bill gave him a respectful nod. "Just to clarify, Admiral. Did you say _fifty billion_?"

"I did. The population of the Twelve Colonies was just north of fifty billion at the time of the attack." Seeing his visitors' surprise at the number, he continued, "Being just one colony, I'd hazard a guess that your Earth Alliance's population was somewhere between two and seven billion, correct? You're probably not accustomed to thinking of that many people."

"Fifteen billion, actually," Captain Levitt responded "including our colonies. Earth itself only packed in about ten billion."

Now it was the Colonials' turn to be surprised. But, they didn't have long to focus on the extreme population density of the Thirteenth Tribe. Takashima, finally having gotten her running eyes and nose under control, muttered to herself "Nà zhēn de hěn tòng."

Chief Tyrol bolted to his feet, staring at her. "Tā jìnrù nǐ de zuǐ lǐ, ér bùshì tōngguò nǐ de bízi."

Laurel gave him a shocked look, and said aloud, "That was Mandarin. My mother's tongue."

"Old Canceran, actually," Tyrol responded. He looked over at Adama. "Sir, I picked up a little bit when I was..." he glanced to the side, embarrassed, "seeing Boomer. She grew up on Troy, but her family was from Canceron...or...I mean..."

"Never mind, Chief," Bill said, letting Tyrol off the hook.

"One matching language is simply impossible," Dr. Eilerson suddenly spoke up. "Two means there is, without a doubt, something strange going on. We just need to figure out what. Est-ce que quelqu'un peut me comprendre?"

Roslin's head came up sharply. "Vous parlez léonais?".

"French actually. That's three."

Dualla, standing against the wall, ready to pour more drinks, suddenly burst out, "Nani aliye na njaa?" Bill glanced over at her. He understood what she was asking, but he appeared to be the only one. Looking around at each other, their visitors shook their heads one by one.

"It's Swahili," Franklin said, walking into the room. "And I am, a bit," he said, answering her question.

"You speak Swahili?" Garibaldi asked.

"A bit. My father was dead set against it. Called it a 'completely worthless waste of effort.' After that, of course I _had_ to learn it. But, right now, you should all hear what I found."

Dualla was carrying a tray of horderves over to him, and he was about to explain, when Roslin interrupted, "This is all very interesting. I'm sure we could spend years trying to figure this out. But, right now, it's just not important." She stood up and pulled her seat over, placing it directly in front of Commodore Sheridan, then sitting to look him directly in the eye. "Commodore, this fleet contains fewer than fifty thousand survivors from the fifty billion who once lived in the Cyrannus system."

"Wait," Sheridan interrupted. "All twelve of your worlds were in the same system? All habitable?"

"Yes, Commodore, but that's _still_ not important. As the President of the survivors of the Twelve Colonies, I am asking you...I am begging you...for asylum and shelter. We've been out here, searching for a refuge. A refuge the Cylons know nothing about. It hasn't been an easy journey. It's been long and arduous. But we've been out here with the single shining hope of making Earth our new home. And here you are. _Please_ Commodore. Take us to Earth."

Sheridan looked around at his people. They all suddenly seemed rather uncomfortable. "Madame President...I'm afraid we can't help you. At least, not in exactly the way you want. You see..."

Sheridan paused, searching for words, and Bill cut in. "You're not going to Earth. In fact, none of you are planning to head back there any time soon. You're a colonization fleet."

The Commodore blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"

He walked over and stood directly behind Laura, meeting Sheridan's eyes directly. "Your odd mix of numerous classes of civilian and military ships should have told me. But I didn't realize until right before this meeting. I received a fresh report on the size of one of your ships. A six kilometer long monster, moderately armed. We haven't built anything resembling that for four thousand years. Not since we used something similar in the original settlement of the colonies. I figure that thing is packed to the gills with civilians and colonization equipment."

Sheridan smiled. "Well, Admiral, you got nearly to the right answer, but I'm afraid you took the wrong path in getting there. That ship is one of our Explorer class vessels. As the name suggests, its primary purpose is exploration and pushing the boundaries of the Earth Alliance. It's a great many of our smaller vessels which are dedicated to carrying civilians and colonization equipment and materials."

"And none of that really matters," Bill stated bluntly. "There's only one question that matters. Do you believe us? Do you believe that we are who we say we are? If so, then give us the location of Earth, and we'll head there ourselves."

Bill had his eyes locked onto Sheridan's, and couldn't have missed when those eyes cut to the side, right toward where Commander Bester was sitting. Bill felt rather than saw the Commander's subtle head movement. Sheridan brought his eyes back and spoke. "We believe you. But I can't send you to Earth. You see..."

"Then I've had enough of this game," he barked, cutting off Sheridan to spin on Bester. "I'm not a fool, Commander Bester, or Admiral Bester, or whoever the hell you are. You're clearly in charge here. So I want _you_ to tell me. Why the hell won't you help us?"

The diminutive Commander seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry, Admiral. You seem to have gotten confused somewhere. I am quite a few steps away from being in charge here."

"That's crap and you know it. Aside from the fact that you're the only one even old enough to be flag rank, the 'Commodore' here has been looking to you for permission throughout this meeting."

"Confirmation," Sheridan said from behind him.

"Excuse me?" Bill called over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

"I was looking to him for confirmation, not permission."

"Confirmation of what?" Bill asked, calming down but still speaking over his shoulder.

"Confirmation that you were telling the truth. I did tell you that Commander Bester was a teep."

Bill finally turned around, stepping back up behind the President who had not so much as moved throughout his whole outburst. "And am I supposed to know what that means?"

"Of cou..." Sheridan began. Then he trailed off, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. "Oh...oooh. My apologies, Admiral. It seems I failed to check all of my assumptions. Teep is slang for telepath. I assumed when you acknowledged that he could come aboard that you understood. Per our laws, the Commander has restricted himself from entering any of your minds, but he has checked to ensure you weren't lying to us. That's what I meant when I said we knew you weren't lying."

Bill glanced back over his shoulder at the Commander, embarrassed and irritated in equal measure. "And you actually believe this person can read minds?"

"Yes, of course. Don't _you_ believe _me_?"

"Over the last several centuries, various of the Twelve World governments tested for things like ESP and the supernatural. And no one has ever found anything. So no, I don't believe in ghosts, black magic, or telepaths. But so long as he's telling you we're not lying, I'll agree with anything you say. So, now, since you _know_ we aren't lying, why won't you give us directions to Earth?"

"Because going there would just get you all killed. And if you really want the directions, I _will_ give them to you. But I strongly urge you to select another destination. The Earth Alliance...it's not there anymore. It's been overrun and destroyed. You were only partially correct about our fleet. It's not just a colonization effort. It's an exodus. We pulled together a seed to restart our civilization elsewhere, and to preserve what we thought was all that remained of the human race. Unlike you, we had months to prepare, to gather resources and passengers. But our people, just like yours, have seen their entire world fall to fire and death."

Bill looked around at the other Colonials in the room. The Commodore's words had clearly stunned them. Even Starbuck looked completely dumbstruck, and he heard the President cursing quietly under her breath. Still, something else about what the Commodore had said was gnawing at him. "If the Cylons destroyed the Earth, how exactly is it that you've never heard of them before?"

"Because it wasn't the Cylons. The Earth Alliance was lost in a two year long war with the Minbari."

Bill had never heard that name before. Glancing at his people, he could tell they were also unfamiliar with the term. "Is that one of your colonies? Was this a civil war then?"

Sheridan shook his head. "No. The Earth and her colonies were more or less unified. It wasn't perfect, and there _were_ independence movements out there, but by and large we had a single functioning government. No, the Minbari are an alien species. Humanoid. Not too dissimilar to humans."

"What?" Saul guffawed, looking up from his glass. "Pull the other one." Bill just continued to stare at the Commodore.

Sheridan continued. "We made first contact a couple of years ago, and everything went wrong. We'd sent a military expedition into their space, hoping they would respect a show of strength. Perhaps they did. The Minbari approached with open gunports, a sign which to them meant respect between warriors. The man in charge of our expedition, Captain Jankowski, assumed it was an attack and opened fire, then retreated. It turned out the ship he was attacking was political in nature. He'd managed to kill an important leader of theirs; political or religious, we're not entirely sure. We think it might have been their equivalent of a President, but details are scarce. What we do know is that, from that point forward, the Minbari were out for blood. Battle after battle, they eviscerated our fleets, while we barely touched them. Their technology was far in advance of our own. We couldn't even get a weapons lock on them. For two years the Earth Alliance bled, as soldiers and civilians were fed into the meat grinder. And despite our best efforts, they crept inexorably closer to Earth, taking out colony after colony. When the brass realized the inevitable, they authorized this fleet, in the hopes of preserving our species and culture. We've been running ever since, and the Minbari have been chasing us. They seem determined to wipe out _all_ of humanity. We think we may have lost them, but that is far from certain. So, you see, if I send you to Earth, it will just mean the death of all those lives you are trying to preserve."

Saul barked another laugh. "If you don't want us to go to your precious Earth, Commodore, just say so. Don't try to feed us a load of crap."

Colonel Garibaldi, it seemed, couldn't restrain himself. "You're trying to convince us of skin covered doom-bots, and you have a hard time with aliens?"

"Just because we've been chased halfway across the galaxy by a bunch of frakkin' toasters, doesn't mean I'm going to believe in magical mind readers or little green men from Pallas."

Dr. Eilerson, feeling the need to reinsert himself into the conversation, offered, "Actually, the little green men are from Vreetan. And they're more greyish tan than green. It's also extremely difficult to determine their gender, so calling them men might very well insult them, or at the very least get them laughing at your expense, which they _love_ to do."

Saul was completely at a loss for how to respond to _that_ , and Bill didn't blame him. It was Starbuck who first found the voice to ask a question. "How many...how many alien species are there?"

"No idea," Eilerson responded. "But we've met dozens, at various stages of technological development. Some are truly alien looking, and some could almost pass for human. The Earth Alliance has only been in space at all for about two centuries. We're the newcomers, and many of the alien races are more advanced than us. In many cases, frighteningly more advanced. One of our greatest scientific endeavors is searching empty worlds for the remains of prior inhabitants, and any technology they may have left behind."

"So, you're scavengers?" Kara wasn't even attempting to hide her distaste.

"Our findings provided some of the best defenses we had against alien threats," he protested.

"Which didn't help us, in the end," Sheridan interjected, attempting to end that line of conversation.

Roslin stood up, beginning to pace. The potential loss of Earth as a destination was clearly bothering her. Of the Colonials, only Baltar didn't seem to find it upsetting. But then, he was pressing for settlement of the newly discovered planet, the one he was calling New Caprica. She turned back to the Commodore. "So the reason you thought we might not be human, was because you believed we might be an alien species which closely resembles humanity?"

"Yes," he agreed.

"But Dr. Baltar's findings prove that we are all human."

"As do mine," Lieutenant Colonel Franklin chimed in. "I've been waiting for a good time to bring them up."

"One moment, Doctor. So, if you have only been in space for a couple of centuries, then your civilization must not be that old."

"It depends on what you mean by civilization. But, less than a millenia ago we were riding horses and swinging swords, and just beginning to understand the concept of science."

"Then how do you know you're _not_ the lost thirteenth tribe of Kobol? Couldn't you be the descendants of a crashed and stranded colonization effort, which lost access to its advanced technology and had to spend the last four millenia rebuilding its way to the stars?"

Sheridan began to shake his head, but then paused and looked at Dr. Franklin. The Doctor took it as permission to explain. "No, Madame President. I'm afraid not. Our historical record extends back farther than that." Laura began to nod, but Franklin wasn't done yet. "In addition, the archeological and fossil record go back _much_ farther than that. There is no doubt that humanity evolved on Earth."

Laura turned her head to meet Bill's gaze. Her confusion was evident at the unfamiliar terms. Turning back to Franklin, she attempted to press on. "Then perhaps there were already humans on Earth, and the Thirteenth Tribe chose to integrate themselves into the local population. If your people were as primitive as you say back then, would they even have noticed? Would they have left records?"

Franklin appeared thoughtful. "I suppose it's possible Madame President. But if so, then your tribe died out without leaving any descendants. It seems more likely that they simply were never there. Perhaps they went elsewhere."

"How could you possibly know for certain?"

"It's written in your DNA."

Baltar sat straight up at that pronouncement. "Excuse me?"

Franklin smiled, looking forward to engaging a fellow scientist. "That's what took me so long to return. I had to consult some of my associates back in our fleet. Geneticists and evolutionary biologists. As I said before, my findings are _very_ interesting. But the answer is clear, if you know to watch for genetic drift, check the right genetic markers, and watch for plain old evolution."

Baltar was starting to look confused, but it was Roslin who spoke up. "There's that word again. Evolution. Do you mean...like a military evolution?"

Brows raised in surprise, Franklin responded, "No, ma'am. I meant in the biological sense. Evolution of species. The gradual change of genes over time, coupled with natural selection for survival traits relevant to prevailing environmental conditions." Franklin seemed to notice the confusion written on the faces of all of the Colonials. Bill himself was starting to feel as though their languages _weren't_ the same. The Lieutenant Commander was starting to look confused himself. "Do...do your people not teach evolutionary theory? Is that cultural? We had that struggle ourselves, a few centuries back, but I assure you that all of my facts are based on well established and vetted science."

"Excuse me, Doctor," Baltar said, sliding forward in his seat. "Without undue modesty, I must say that before the fall I was one of the preeminent scientists in all of the Twelve Colonies and, to be blunt, was acknowledged as a genius," he added with a chuckle looking around to his fellow colonials for support. It was not forthcoming, and the scowls directed at him by both Adama and Roslin wiped the smile off of his face. "Right, well..." he continued, trying to regain his train of thought, "it can safely be said that there isn't a branch of science with which I am not aware, if not well versed in. And I've never heard of this ridiculous concept. Which means...it's not science."

Eilerson jumped back into the conversation, apparently challenged by Baltar's claim to genius. "You know, Dr. Baltar, one thing I've learned from studying the remains of multiple worlds and species is that worlds in isolation develop knowledge and technology differently. Wouldn't you concede that it's possible we may have developed a science which you have not?"

Baltar gave Eilerson his most patronizing smile. "I'm sure your scientists are all quite skilled. But we've been in space for well over forty centuries. You claim barely three. By your own admission, you were astonished by simple gravity technology. And, given that our computer science led to the Cylon problem, which yours has yet to do...the idea of you having any scientific field more advanced than our own seems...a bit... unlikely."

The smile Eilerson returned was clearly predatory. "Tell me doctor...these twelve worlds of yours...when you arrived...were they already inhabitable, or did they need to be changed."

Clearly taken aback by the apparent non sequitur, Balter simply answered. "A few of them had breathable atmospheres. Some algaes and mosses, that sort of thing. But they all needed to be kobolformed to one extent or another. The plants and animals we brought with us were very hardy and spread quickly, and there's not much left of the native biology."

"Kobolformed, huh," Eilerson said, tasting the new yet entirely clear word. His countenance shifted to one of triumph. "Well, there you go then."

"Excuse me?"

"How could you have developed evolutionary theory? Your worlds have no fossil record. Your ecosystems are all totally artificial, and totally under your control. Such systems don't adapt and evolve, they do what they're told. On Earth, we can track the biological changes of life back hundreds of millions of years. Don't worry, Dr. Baltar. It's not that your scientists weren't smart enough. It's just that they didn't have the right resources."

Baltar was preparing to object, when Roslin cut him off in exasperation. "I'm sure this all very interesting..."

"Madame President, if I may, please," Franklin cut in, and she nodded at him, controlling her irritation. "Look, if your worlds didn't have this science, then I understand why you wouldn't trust it. But, you have an eminent scientist here," he said gesturing diplomatically to Gaius. "Why don't I just relay my findings, and then I can provide the entire history and knowledge base of the field to Dr. Baltar, as well as the data that led to my specific findings. Then he can review it and advise you whether or not to believe me."

"That sounds fair," Bill stated assertively, wanting to cut off any more argument over scientific mumbo jumbo.

"Go ahead, Stephen," Sheridan said.

"Well, there was a lot of data to go through, but the result is pretty simple. You see, significant climatic and environmental events can leave detectable changes in the human genome. These can be referenced like a type of biological calendar. One such event was the Toba supereruption of seventy-five thousand years ago..."

"Doctor," Roslin interrupted. "You said you would keep this simple."

"Right, well, my data proves that the Colonials are human..."

"Which I already said," Baltar groused.

Ignoring him, Franklin kept on talking. "and they are from Earth."

"I don't need Baltar to tell me _that's_ not true." Starbuck blurted.

"Not literally from Earth. I don't mean that you are lying. I mean that the analysis of your genes shows that you originated on Earth. The markers are there for events that happened on Earth, like the Toba eruption."

"We came from Kobol," Saul started to argue.

"Yes," Franklin agreed. "Four thousand years ago. But, somewhere between ten and twenty thousand years ago, your ancestors first left Earth. That's when the genetic markers stop matching up."

This time it was Garibaldi who objected. "We barely left atmosphere three hundred years ago. How the hell could we have put colonists on another star twenty thousand years further back?"

"How should I know? Alien abduction? Lost super-civilizations?"

"Atlantis? Your explanation is a sinking continent?"

Baltar began arguing again, and the entire room broke out into chaotic debate. Bill had had enough. He made eye contact with Commodore Sheridan and jerked his head sharply to the side. He turned to walk over to his liquor cabinet, the Commodore following him. Their movements were largely unnoticed in the continuing debate. Pouring a couple of glasses of one of his favorites, he handed a glass to the Commodore, then threw back his own, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. He stared into the Commodore's eyes for a moment. "This is getting us nowhere," he said quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the rest of the room.

"Agreed. It's too much, too fast."

"I want to trust you, but I'm not in a position where I can afford to trust too easily."

"I'm in that same position. My first instinct is that we could do a lot to help each other. But this meeting just proves how difficult that is likely to be. We should probably wrap it up before somebody says or does something regrettable."

"I'd hate for this effort to be wasted. Or the whole opportunity, for that matter."

"Agreed. But this group isn't getting anywhere, we're all to invested in our own mindset."

Bill smiled. "Maybe we need to start smaller. Fewer people. Smaller egos. Less focus on the big picture."

Sheridan thought for a moment, then threw back his drink and gave a grin of satisfaction. "How would you feel...about an exchange program?"


	22. Chapter 20 - Popularity Contests

**Chapter 20 - Popularity Contests**

 **.**

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Battlestar Galactica - July, 2249**

"Earth Force Starfurys on final approach." Once more in the waiting room adjoining the starboard flight deck, Admiral Adama, President Roslin, and Captain Starbuck listened to the almost disinterested tone in the announcers voice. This was only the second Earth Force visit to the Galactica, the first from any of their fighters, and already Flight Pod Traffic Control was treating it as routine. If anything, Bill was even more nervous than the last time, as he now knew that the Earther systems were not built for returning to a ship with gravity. Their return bays were all in zero G.

He watched as the Starfurys approached the opening to the flight deck. Kara was right. Those fighters were _bizarre_. The cockpit was the forwardmost part of the vessel, with an entirely clear forward hemisphere. He supposed that offered unparalleled visibility, but Bill couldn't imagine being so _exposed_ in combat. Nor did he think he would ever get used to the idea of being able to see a fighter pilot's feet. That was just _wrong_.

He tensed as the Starfurys entered the zone of artificial gravity, but this time they were prepared for it, and fighter craft had a lot more maneuvering thrust than shuttles. The Starfurys began to sink slowly towards the deck as their ventral maneuvering thrusters kicked in, spewing gas downwards. Then, as though they had practiced it many times, both fighters began to rotate backwards in unison. They maintained their forward momentum, still sinking towards the deck, but now their primary thrusters were coming into play. As they continued their backwards rotation, those heavy thrusters were pointed more and more towards the deck. They used only a fraction of their power, but quickly arrested all descent. The ventral thrusters, now pointed forward, began to arrest their forward momentum. They eased off slightly on the primary thrusters, allowing them to begin sinking once more. Finally, as the Starfurys approached the deck, there was a final burst of thrust to bring their momentum to zero, with the two craft sitting on their engine nozzles, perpendicular to the deck. It was a far cry from either a Viper's normal or combat landings. Bill had never before seen something look both so graceful and so awkward at the same time.

Starbuck grunted and offered, "I wouldn't want to have to do _that_ in combat." Bill could only nod as they watched the two pilots exit and clamber down from their craft, one of them carrying a large rucksack. He led Laura and Kara out to meet them.

The first pilot removed his bulky helmet and tucked it under his arm, firing off a salute. "Permission to come aboard, Sir?"

Adama returned the salute. "Granted. Welcome to the Galactica, Captain Sinclair. I assume this must be Lieutenant Ivanova?" he asked looking at the _very_ young woman who had similarly doffed her helmet.

"Sir, yes, Sir!" she snapped saluting smartly.

He returned her salute. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. We've heard good things. I look forward to seeing what you can do. Allow me to introduce you both to President Laura Roslin."

"It's a true pleasure, Madame President," Sinclair offered, snapping off another salute, then shaking her hand enthusiastically. He seemed far more impressed by her civilian authority than Commodore Sheridan had. Lieutenant Ivanova didn't seem to know just _how_ to react to being introduced to the President.

Filling the brief silence which followed, Adama continued, "And this is Captain Kara Thrace...Starbuck. She's the CAG. She'll get you settled in, Lieutenant."

"Shall we?" Starbuck asked with her trademark grin. Motioning Ivanova to follow, she lead the young Lieutenant off of the fight deck.

Once the two had departed, Laura asked, "Captain, may I ask what role you serve in your fleet?"

"I've served quite a few. Currently, I am the commanding officer of the Nova. That's a fairly recent development; when we finally convinced the Commodore that he shouldn't be acting as the CO of our primary combat vessel."

Bill quirked an eyebrow at him. "Odd not to see a flag officer commanding from the most powerful vessel."

"You don't command from the Pegasus, Admiral," Sinclair noted. Bill grunted in bemusement, but the Captain continued, "It's one of the vagaries of fighting the Minbari, Admiral. The odds are high that even our most powerful vessel would be chopped up in any serious engagement. At the same time, the Minbari vessels are durable enough that _only_ our most powerful vessel stands much chance of slowing them down. So we were in the very odd position of having our premiere combat vessel prepared to be cast into the role of sacrificial lamb in any encounter. That's no place for the Commodore to fly his flag."

"And what did you do before taking command of the Nova?"

"I was Captain of the Lexington...that's our Heavy Cruiser. I was only in that role for a few months though. Prior to that I was the CAG, like Captain Thrace. Though, we have one CAG for the whole fleet, while I'm given to understand that each of your...Battlestars?" Bill nodded in confirmation, and Sinclair continued, "That each of your Battlestars has its own CAG."

Bill nodded in interest, but he could see Laura's eyes start to glaze over, though her expression remained entirely unchanged. She really was becoming quite the politician. "Captain, if you have a moment, the President and I would like to give you a tour of the Galactica. Along the way, there are a few topics we'd like to discuss."

"It would be my honor, Admiral, Madame President.

Bill lead them on an extended tour throughout the ship, pointing out locations and facilities both exotic and mundane. After having passed through the CIC, they stopped in his quarters. Bill offered their visitor a drink, but Sinclair declined. Roslin, on the other hand, had no compunctions about drinking up his dwindling liquor supply.

"Captain, Sinclair," she began, "I hope you don't mind if we take this opportunity to open a back channel dialogue. I know we are all hoping to gradually grow understanding and communication between our two fleets, starting with the officer exchange effort, but the sensitivity and pressing nature of some matters simply will not wait for such efforts to bear fruit."

"I'm listening, Madame President," he responded cautiously, "though I'm not sure it's a good idea to get into the more challenging subjects just yet. From what I understand of the previous meeting, it was just those topics which lead to confusion and suspicion. We just don't have enough history yet to really trust each other. Frankly, if we hadn't thought it safe enough to take the chance of bringing down the jump drives on the Nova and Eratosthenes for badly needed maintenance, we'd probably have just jumped away the moment we detected you.

Adama grunted. "Hell of a coincidence. We had over a dozen ships in the same condition, including both of our Battlestars. Hell, I _still_ considered ordering every other ship to jump."

Sinclair's eyes widened. "Every other...excuse me, Admiral...are you saying that _all_ of your ships are equipped with jump drives?

Adama and Roslin shared a glance. _What the hell?_ Looking at the Captain quizzically, he cautiously replied. "Yes. Of course."

Sinclair rushed on before Bill could say anymore. "Even...even down to your fighters?

Shaking his head in confusion, Bill responded, "No. Vipers are not equipped with jump drives. But our Raptors are, and they're really not much larger than a Viper. Practically the whole point of a Battlestar is to be able to bring in mass quantities of Vipers so they don't need to take the drain on performance shoehorning in a jump drive would require. Are...are you saying that some of your vessels _don't_ have jump drives?"

"The great majority do not. Ours are so big that only very large vessels can mount them, and so expensive that generally only the military bothers. Our fleet carries just four of them, though until recently it was five."

Bill felt his forehead wrinkling in confusion. "What the frak? Then how the hell...?"

Laura laid her hand on his arm. "I'm sure these technical details are all very interesting, and even important, but it is exactly the kind of confusion causing detail we set up the exchange program to avoid. And it's not really what we needed to speak with you about, Captain."

"Then, please, go ahead Madame President. You have my undivided attention."

"There are a couple of facts your officers need to be aware of, Captain. I suppose whether or not you choose to share them with your people is up to you. Those of your people we have met so far seemed to have...mixed opinions regarding our civilian government." Sinclair started to protest, but she forestalled him with a raised hand. "It was fairly obvious, but no one was the least bit disrespectful, so I have no complaints. But the first fact is regarding that government...my government. Specifically, our fleet is in the last stages of preparation for an election which will take place less than a week from today. I am standing for reelection, and my only opponent is Dr. Gaius Baltar; the scientific advisor who met with your officers during your last visit. It appears to be a very close race."

Sinclair blinked thoughtfully several times. "I...I see, Madame President. Well, this is indeed surprising, but not really any of our business."

"Perhaps not, Captain. But, having met both Dr. Baltar and me, I was hoping that your Commodore Sheridan would endorse me."

The Captain cleared his throat in discomfort. "I will pass along your message, Madame President. But I have to say that I don't think we should get involved in your internal politics, and I will advise the Commodore accordingly."

"I'm not surprised, Captain. However, before you make your decision, I think you should first hear the other item we wished to discuss with you. Apart from yourselves, it is the single largest topic of discussion amongst the Colonial fleet. You see, we've found a planet. My opponent refers to it as New Caprica, and is campaigning on the idea of settling there permanently. The system is shrouded in a thick nebular cloud, and so he assumes that the Cylons won't be able to find it. I think that's an extremely dangerous assumption. I believe the entire campaign revolves around this single issue."

"This world...it's habitable?"

"That depends on your definition," Adama answered. "The air is perfectly breathable, but there is a distinct lack of plant and animal life, and the soil is poor. Surviving there...won't be easy."

"But a lot of people in this fleet just want to breathe real air again," Laura continued. "Feel the sun. Not be crammed into ships like Sardines. And because of that, they aren't fully considering the possibility that the Cylons will find us."

"Would it be possible for me to obtain the information you have on this planet?" Sinclair asked cautiously.

Adama walked over to his desk, then opened a drawer and withdrew a medium sized binder. He passed it to Sinclair. "This contains everything we have on the planet."

"Thank you, Admiral. I'll bring this to the Commodore. It will, of course, be his decision what to do with the information. I suppose I should give this to you now." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small conical crystal. "This crystal contains our full cultural contact packet. It's what we use to follow up our first contact protocols. The crystal contains an overview of our history, cultures, languages, religions, politics, and even a primer on our level of scientific and technological advancement."

Adama looked at the crystal, then shook his head. "We have no way to read that."

"I could arrange for an appropriate interface device to be sent over."

"No. No computers. Your stuff all appears to be highly networked. Is there any way you could provide this information in hard copy?"

Sinclair seemed surprised at the question, but took a moment to really think about it. "I'm not certain. We don't generally print things to paper. I know that there is a civilian newspaper that has been started up on the Olympic. We could probably use their printers to work something up. We'll find a way, Admiral."

"Thank you, Captain.

* * *

.

Starbuck strolled into the pilot's briefing room, taking the CAG's position behind the lectern. No one was paying any attention to her as all eyes were glued to the young woman in the strange uniform taking her place amongst them.

"Alright people, settle down. As you've all noticed, we have a new member of the family. I want you to welcome Lieutenant Susan Ivanova to the fold. She's here under an officer exchange program with the Earth Force fleet."

"Your gonna let this nugget fly with _us_? Is she even old enough to drive?" Kat snarked from where she sat towards the back of the room. "What, are you gonna put training wheels on her Viper?"

"Knock it off, Kat," Kara grumped. "We gave up Hot Dog for the Lieutenant, which I think we can all agree is a trade up, even if she can't fly. Hell, just the lack of Hot Dog's odor in the head makes the whole trade worthwhile. And I am assured that Lieutenant Ivanova is one of the Earth Force's best."

"This Rook?" Kat asked, pressing the issue. "Hey Rook, you ever even _seen_ combat, much less been in it?"

"A time or two," the Lieutenant replied with a small smile, meeting Kat's gaze without flinching.

"Got any kills?" someone asked from the back of the room.

"Some," she replied, not looking to see who it was, still staring down Kat.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Rook," Kat said, clearly relishing the interplay. "What's your number? How many kills has little old you got? Don't expect to impress us. Most of the people in this room have made Ace against the Cylons. A few of us have made Double Ace or higher."

"Double Ace?" the Lieutenant asked, never taking her eyes off of Kat. "Very impressive."

"So what's your number, Rook? We're all waiting? One? _Two_?"

"One hundred and seventeen."

Kat sneered as laughter and derisive comments rang out across the room. Behind them at the podium, Kara rolled her eyes. She hadn't pegged Ivanova as the lying braggart type, but it looked like she'd have to smack the woman down on her first day. Kill count wasn't something you joked or lied about. Shaking her head, she began flipping through the personnel file she had been given on the woman. The real number would certainly be in there, and she would have to embarrass the Lieutenant by throwing it out to the group. Finding the right section, she began scanning through the document...

"Holy _frak_!" As everyone's attention snapped back to Starbuck, she looked up at the room. "That's...right. One hundred and seventeen. There's a frakking list. And another number...modified kill count...and it's over three hundred?" She glanced an inquiry at Ivanova.

"We count Minbari kills as three, because of all of their advantages. Well...most pilots get to count them as five, but as a telepath I'm only allowed three. I'm told that Master Ace is bestowed at one hundred and twenty-five, which has only been hit by a handful of people in our world's history, but there was no way they would give that out based on a modified kill count. Besides, I might have to give up the majority of those kills. Quite a significant number of them happened while I was a mental sock puppet."

Kara had no idea what to make of that statement, and saw similar confusion on the faces of her pilots. But one thing was clear. She had lost control of her meeting. Time to fix that. Rapping her knuckles on the podium, she drew everyone's attention back to herself. "Lieutenant," she said, addressing Ivanova again. "I've got a new flight suit for you. Since you're going to be joining us, I'll expect you to wear it. No one's flying off of my ship in...one of those," she said nodding at Susan's uniform.

"What's wrong with my flight suit? It's worked just fine this entire time."

"When we were all maneuvering against each other during first contact, I had a close pass with one of your Starfurys. I got a good look inside the cockpit while it was pulling a hard turn. The pilot's helmet literally flipped up and smacked her in the face. What idiot designs a helmet to sit on the shoulders rather than the head?"

Susan actually blushed. "Well, you know what they say about military contracts going to the lowest bidder."

"Well, I'm just glad that bidder wasn't in the Colonies." She removed a packaged flight suit in the Lieutenant's size from beneath the podium and tossed it to her, the bronze colored material glinting in the light. She followed it up with a proper helmet. "I also understand that you don't have a Call Sign."

Susan nodded. "We don't give them out all that often. They're usually considered an honorary badge, to be designated when someone has done something particularly noteworthy...good or bad."

"Well, you'd think having over a hundred kills would be considered noteworthy."

"Probably. I guess we've all just been too busy trying to survive to take the time for it."

"Well, if you want to fly with us, you need to have one. Fortunately, I was able to get into contact with your former CO, and he had some suggestions."

"Oh no," Susan muttered to herself.

"Everyone," Starbuck announced loudly to the room. "I'd like you all to meet our newest pilot...Russki."

"That son-of-a-bitch," Russki hissed under her breath.

Starbuck wasn't finished. "Now, we've all got a training flight to integrate our new pilot and get her accustomed to flying Vipers. Russki, you're out of uniform."

* * *

.

The squadron pulled into a chevron formation as they waited for their newest member to join them. Russki had looked at the Viper launch tubes with great interest, and had been eager to go. But, as expected, Chief Tyrol was taking extra time certifying her bird prior to launch. He didn't want any issues befalling their newest shipmate on his watch...at least, none that were his responsibility. Starbuck wondered if the Earthers were taking as good of care of Hot Dog. Probably they were sick of him already.

Finally, Chief Tyrol gave the go ahead. Starbuck listened in to the crew chatter as Russki's bird was pushed into the launch tube, picturing it in her head. "Russki, you are cleared for launch," came the voice of the launch controller. If Russki remembered her protocols, she would give a thumbs up, then receive and return a salute from her crew chief, though today Chief Tyrol had probably assumed that spot. "Launch! Launch! Launch!"

Starbuck knew the full body kick Russki would now be feeling as her Viper was hurled out of the tube. Some first timers puked. Others passed out from the G forces, which was why the Admiral had made sure nothing was in the way of the launch tubes. If Russki lost consciousness, she'd have plenty of time to come to and regain control of her craft. Some pilots came out gasping for air, while others were praying to the gods. Still other pilots took the whole process stoically, trying to impress everyone with how mundane they thought the whole process was. Having read her file and spoken with her CO, Kara was betting on the last option. She wouldn't, however, be surprised by any reaction...except for the one she got.

Russki shot out of the tube with a banshee howl into her mike. "I have got to get me one of these!" Slowly at first, but then rapidly accelerating, her craft began to roll, rotating around its long axis. She must have made a mistake with the unfamiliar controls, because instead of correcting, she began to tumble as well. A series of correction attempts only made things worse. Within seconds she was tumbling along all three axis with her main engines still thrusting hard, rolling and corkscrewing wildly.

"Shit! Russki's lost it!" came Kat's shout. Kara was already gunning her engines, attempting to pull close to the out of control craft. She needed a good line of sight in order to talk the Earther through stabilizing her craft. The squadron followed her in.

They moved in close, and Starbuck was just getting a feel for the wild gyrations, when Russki's Viper flipped over backwards and in a pair of heartbeats was flying perfectly parallel to her new CAG. Of course, she was flying upside and backwards and looking Kara directly in the eye from barely two meters away, but there was not so much as a wiggle to her craft. "I like it," she announced. "So what's up, Boss?"

Kara's eyes widened, and she broke out into a grin despite her best attempts at an officer's scowl as she heard other members of the squadron cursing under their breath. " _Oh. You're_ going to be fun. Ok, folks. It seems Russki likes acrobatics. So today's exercise will be high G maneuvers. We're going to keep going until _I_ get tired. First person to puke cleans it up for everyone else!"

* * *

.

Susan Ivanova was changing out of her flight suit in the locker room, after a hard training session. Only one person had actually puked in their helmet, but a half dozen other had yakked shortly after returning to the Galactica. Starbuck had pushed hard to show that the rest of her pilots were no slouches compared to Susan. She was clearly just as tough as Sinclair had ever been. And, despite the vomit and some grumbling about it all being her fault, those pilots now clearly considered her one of them.

This was a golden opportunity. A chance to start fresh and reinvent herself. She supposed these people would still be afraid of telepaths. And she would still be the youngest pilot in the squadron. But, here she wouldn't be Ganya's little sister, or Ironheart's partner who had experienced him becoming a god, or even that woman who was sort of a serial killer. She didn't have any of that baggage here. Hell, even that idiotic call sign was a chance to reinvent herself.

Which was why she adamantly refused to allow something as mundane as a coed locker room to throw her off. She would just stand here, facing the wall, and change, despite all of the men who were mere feet away. And she was _not_ blushing furiously. No, it was just cold in here...or something. Of course, it didn't help that not only could she feel their eyes on her, she could literally see and hear the thoughts behind those eyes.

"Eyes front and center, Duck!" she barked, not bothering to so much as turn her head.

The pilot chuckled from directly behind her. With over forty confirmed kills, he was one of a handful of pilots on board that was anywhere close to her numbers. "Awful touchy, aren't you. Relax. I ain't doing no harm."

"Is that what Nora would say? You probably shouldn't be comparing my ass to hers."

She heard him hiss behind her and step closer. "What the frak? How did you know about me and Nora? We haven't told anyone yet. And I wasn't comparing your asses!"

Now it was Susan's turn to chuckly. "You were all told I was a telepath, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever superstitious nonsense you want to believe," he said, then stomped off angrily.

Susan was still smiling when she heard the argument break out.

"Come on, you've got plenty. Just let me borrow a little."

"Frak you. You ain't borrowing shit. It's my last tube of Felgercarb, and it's not like you would ever pay back what you borrowed. You should have conserved better."

"Hey asshole, we've all been scrimping and saving what little we got. Some of us just started with more than the others. Why should you be better off than the rest of us just because you happened to be lucky enough to have a full tube when all this shit started?!"

Susan could feel their emotions ramping up, preparing to trade blows, so she stepped in. "Just curious," she said approaching, "but what's Felgercarb? I've never heard the word."

"It's a brand name," spat the first pilot, whose name she didn't know. "Felgercarb toothpaste. Fuzzy here's still got some left."

"You're fighting over toothpaste?" she asked in shock. "Are supplies really that low?"

"If you think the lack of toothpaste is bad," Racetrack said, coming out of the head, "wait till you realize there's not a damned tampon left in the fleet. Why, Russki? Aren't things as tight over in your fleet?"

Susan turned and reached into her rucksack, retrieving a couple of packages. She threw a full-size, unopened box of Crest toothpaste to the first pilot, and a box of Kotex to Racetrack. "Sorry, I use pads. If you'll excuse me, I need to make a call."

* * *

.

Saul Tigh marched into the President's office aboard Colonial One. Given his swagger, he was impossible not to notice. The Presidential Aide, Tory Foster, looked up from her work. "What can we do for you, Colonel?"

"The polls open in four hours. I came to inform the President that the military stands ready to ensure the validity of the vote. Is everything ready here?"

She gave him a knowing nod. "Yes, everything is prepared."

"Well, then, I'll see you afterwards."

Tigh was turning to leave, when Colonial One's Captain hustled into the room. "You all need to hear this. We just received a broadcast from the Earth Alliance Fleet. It was an open broadcast to everyone, on our standard civilian frequencies. They say Commodore Sheridan will be making a statement in a moment." He flipped on a comm panel mounted on the rear wall.

"Regarding what?" Tory asked.

"They didn't say."

The comm unit crackled with static as they waited, but shortly a voice could be heard. "Good morning to you all. This is Commodore John Sheridan of the Earth Alliance Fleet. I am sorry to take up your time on what I am sure will be a very busy day, so I will endeavor to be brief. I have some information that I feel you have a right to know. I recognize that my statement will be politically charged within your fleet, but I assure you that I have neither the intent nor the interest to interfere in your political process. What I wish to speak to you about today is the world you have named New Caprica. I have studied your files on the planet. It is barely habitable. A colony of a few tens of thousands of individuals just might be able to survive, perhaps even thrive there. A colony of millions would find it much more difficult, though our fleet does possess terraforming equipment which could make the planet more livable over a long period of time. Of more concern to me is the nebular cloud which some believe will shield you from Cylon detection. Having studied the cloud, I can say with certainty that it will not to the slightest extent impede a Minbari search. Our fleet may have lost its pursuers, but I would feel far more comfortable putting a bit more territory between us before I begin colonization. With those two facts in mind, I wish to make it known that the Earth Alliance fleet will not be settling New Caprica, whatever choice you make this day. Now, my best wishes to you, as you practice your democracy. John Sheridan, signing off."

The comm unit faded back to static as Tory and the Captain stared at each other, stunned. "I'm going to see if the President needs anything," he said, and strode from the room.

Saul waited momentarily for the door to shut behind him, then strode forward and grabbed Tory by the arm. "Call it off."

"Excuse me?" she snapped, glancing down at where he still held her, just above her elbow. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I gods damned mean. Call it the frak off."

"This doesn't change anything. Baltar still has a significant chance of winning," she hissed at him.

"If the people are stupid enough to vote for him now, then they deserve what they frakking get. Sheridan just made our entire fleet aware of the consequences, and there's nothing that weasley bastard Gaius Baltar can do about it." He finally let go of her. "So I will say it one more time. Call it off, or I will gods damned well arrest every damned member of the plot."

"That includes you to, you know."

"Then I'll get to enjoy a good snooze in the brig. Now, are we clear?"

"Crystal," she ground out.

With a nod, Tigh marched out with a considerably lighter step than with which he had arrived.

* * *

.

A very long day later, Tigh sat drinking as he and Bill watched the votes being counted. Bill was chatting with the President as Petty Officer Dualla brought in the ballots from the Zephyr, delivering them to where Lieutenant Gaeta was overseeing the counting. Roslin was in a rather good mood. Commodore Sheridan's last minute announcement seemed to have decidedly swung the vote back into her favor. She did cast a rather disapproving look over at the Colonel as he took another drink from his flask, but chose not to say anything. While Bill appreciated that, it didn't mean he was going to allow Saul to get all the way to drunk while still on duty. He stepped over to the Colonel and said, "Maybe take it easy on that stuff, Saul. We'll be on duty for a while yet."

"Come on, we've got to celebrate, Bill!" Tigh argued.

"I didn't realize you were such a fan of the President's. I always got the impression you didn't like her."

"Can you imagine the alternative though? Baltar? Gods help us." Tigh asked with a touch of amusement. "That's not why I'm celebrating though. I'm just glad to get through this election with my soul intact."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Perhaps if he had been just a bit more sober, the Colonel would have thought better of his next words. "You know. We got the President re-elected without having to take steps."

"Steps?" Adama asked, his tone sharpening.

"Sure. To make sure the votes added up the right way."

"And what way is that, exactly, Colonel Tigh?"

The barked words from his friend and CO finally got through the fog in Tigh's head, and he suddenly looked alarmed. Just not any more sober. "You know, Bill. We couldn't let that skink Baltar get elected. Can you imagine? It would be a disaster" He seemed to shrink as Adama's glare redoubled. He tried to flog his tired brain into action, looking for a justification. "Oh hell, you know I'm no good at explaining these things." His eye caught sight of Dualla. "Dee. Foster got you involved in this too. Help me explain why it was so important that..." He trailed off as Adama slowly turned away from him to place his full attention on Petty Officer Dualla. Anastasia, having been surreptitiously listening in on their conversation, was staring back at the Admiral with very wide eyes.

"Petty Officer Second Class Dualla," he snarled, "I _strongly_ recommend you find yourself elsewhere. Immediately." Without so much as a squeak, Dee turned and fled. For his part, Lieutenant Gaeta kept his nose firmly buried in the counting. Saul had decided this was an opportune moment to take another nip. With a growl of disgust, Bill slowly walked back over to stand next to the President and resume watching the count. Turning to look directly at her, he spoke quietly so as not to be overheard. "It appears that some of my officers have been acting in collusion with your campaign manager, Tory Foster, to prevent a Baltar Presidency. While I may agree with their assessment of him, what they were doing was illegal, even if they called it off before actually tampering with the votes." Lowering his eyes, he continued, "A judicial tribunal may have to be convened…"

"Stop," she said softly, shaking her head. "I gave Tory the go ahead. I didn't know exactly what she was planning. I certainly didn't know about Colonel Tigh, oh my gods. But...I did know she was planning to fix the vote."

"You planned to steal an election."

"Yes I did," she said contemplatively, not meeting his eyes. "And I got caught." She finally met his gaze. "But Gaius Baltar cannot become President of the Colonies, Bill. It cannot happen."

"Laura," he said cautiously, "I don't want him as President either but…"

"He's working with the Cylons," she said, cutting him off. "I saw him, Just before the attack on Caprica. With a copy of the tall, blonde Cylon woman. The same model who accused Baltar of treason before disappearing from Galactica."

"What the hell are you saying? Why didn't you say something before this?"

"Because I didn't remember seeing him with that woman until I remembered it when I was dying. I know how that sounds, but it's real. The same way Kobol is real. And the Tomb of Athena is real. And that map to Earth is real. Baltar is working with the Cylons."

"Even if that's true," he responded, "you have no proof."

"No, I don't."

He shook his head morosely, thinking. Finally, he reached out and snagged a chair, sitting down. Roslin followed suit. Eventually, he said, "Thank gods they called it off. If they hadn't, the decision facing us would be whether or not to steal the results of a democratic election. If we did so, we'd be criminals. Unindicted, maybe, but criminals just the same."

"Yes," she nodded, "we would be."

He glanced down at the floor, then returned his gaze to her. "You wouldn't have done it. You'd have gone this far, but that's it."

"Excuse me?"

"If you'd tried to steal this election, you'd have died inside. Likely moved your cancer right to your heart." He paused again. "Now that's not a concern. People make that choice….they have to live with it, whatever it is."

"Baltar is the wrong choice."

"Yes, he is. Have faith. Sheridan made them see that. And if not…"

"We just give up?"

"The battle perhaps. But not the war."

They were quiet for the next few minutes, contemplating that disquieting thought. Finally, Lieutenant Gaeta approached them. "Madame President? We just finished the count. It's not official yet, of course, but I wanted to be the first to congratulate you. You've been re-elected. Congratulations. It was closer than I expected, but the vote was definitive."

Roslin beamed. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"If you'll excuse me, Ma'am, I need to go inform the other candidate."

* * *

.

President Roslin and Admiral Adama were on their way to the flight deck when an unwelcome visitor stepped into their path, blocking them. Roslin looked him up and down. "Dr. Baltar. We're rather busy. Make an appointment with Tory."

Baltar gave her his obsequious smile. "Really, Madame President. I won't take but a moment of your time. I just wanted to officially offer you my concession and congratulations," he said proferring his hand in an offer to shake hers.

Laura glanced down at his hand in distaste and did not take it. "Thank you, Doctor. Now that the election is over, hopefully we can move forward and we can _all_ get what we deserve. Now, if you will excuse us, we have someplace to be."

She began to step around him, but he sidestepped once more into her path. She glanced sharply into his face. "Madame President. Please...allow me to urge you, once again, to do the right thing and settle our people on New Caprica. We can't keep going like this. We can't survive much longer in this fleet. On New Caprica, we will all be able to put the past behind us and start afresh."

She took a half step closer to him. "You'd like that wouldn't you? To be able to let the past die? But I'm afraid, Doctor, that there are some things from our past that will never die. That can never be left behind, no matter how much we want." She took another step closer, practically standing on his toes, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "I know what you did. I promise you, I'm going to watch you burn for it."

Baltar's eyes grew very wide, stunned. He took a hurried step back from the President, sliding off to the side to get out of her way. Roslin and Adama resumed their walk, leaving the nervous Doctor behind. "What did you say to him?" Bill asked after a few minutes of walking.

"I let the good doctor know that justice would come to him."

Bill grunted. "May not have been wise. The little weasel usually finds a way of protecting himself."

"If you don't mind, Admiral, I'd rather not talk about Gaius Baltar."

He grunted again in agreement, and they spent the next couple of minutes walking in companionable silence. Finally, they reached their destination. Baltar's interruption had made them late, and the Deck Chief was just bringing Commodore Sheridan into the flight deck ready room. He sprang to attention and fired off a salute at Adama. Bill interrupted before he could say anything. "You're already aboard, so don't bother asking for permission." He returned the salute.

Sheridan chuckled, then turned towards Roslin. "Madame President, may I extend my very sincere congratulations on your reelection."

"You're too kind, Commodore. Now, what's the occasion? Your people were rather...mysterious...when they asked for this meeting."

"They didn't want to ruin the surprise. I come bearing gifts. Your Deck Chief is having them delivered to your quarters, Admiral. If it's not too presumptuous on my part, perhaps we could continue this conversation there? I have a proposition or two I believe may interest you."

.

Just a few minutes later they were seated in Adama's quarters, where a pair of crates bearing Earth Force markings had been delivered. Bill ignored them in favor of proper hospitality. "Commodore, Madame President., may I offer you anything to drink?"

"Admiral," Sheridan countered, nodding at the smaller of the two crates, "perhaps you might like to open this case first?"

That caught Bill's attention, and he walked over to the indicated crate. It was unlocked, and so he raised the lid...and blinked at the array of bottles and bags packed tightly inside. He turned his eyes up to Commodore Sheridan. "If this is what I think it is, then it's really quite the gift. Perhaps too generous."

"It's meant as an act of friendship, but also as a means to broach a...tricky conversation." He leaned in and pulled out one bottle after another, naming them as he went. "French Champagne. Irish Whiskey. Jamaican Rum. Kentucky Bourbon. I noticed that we were drinking your stocks low, Admiral, and this seemed fitting." He skipped over the next dozen or so bottles, and hefted out a large sack. "Colombian Coffee." This was followed by a fine wooden box. "Cuban Cigars. Some of the finest of what Earth had to offer, and an example of our wealth of culture. I had some of my people add an information card with each item, detailing a little about the place, people and customs that created it."

"Thank you, Commodore." He leaned in and pulled out a bottle at random, reading the attached card. Tequila. From some place called Mexico. He opened the bottle and poured out three healthy glasses, then took a sip. Eyes widening, he gasped a little. "I'll have to keep Saul away from this stuff." His two guests chuckled, and Bill set down his glass and approached the second crate. Cracking the lid, he found it to be stuffed to the brim with old fashioned newspapers. He looked up at the Commodore, a question clear in his expression.

"It's our First Contact and Cultural package. You wanted hard copy rather than a data crystal or direct data transfer. We didn't have an easy way to do that, but fortunately one of our civilian ships was running a newspaper. Unfortunately, the machine they use prints entire newspapers all in one shot, and couldn't output anything other than that. So we plugged in our data, and it started spitting out newspapers. There's over two-hundred of them there, all Sunday edition sized. Data on our worlds, history, cultures, sciences, military...it's all in there, but split up by that machine into 'news articles.' Frankly, I'm not sure how useful to you it will be. Just trying to find information in there is going to be a serious pain in the ass."

Bill drew the first paper off the top of the stack. The huge headline declared 'The Earth,' underneath which was an enormous colored map of a planet that must be at least two-thirds water. It was gorgeous. He handed it over to Roslin. "Commodore, this will be a joy to read. Thank you." He lifted his drink and carefully took another sip. "Now, I believe you said this was going to lead into a somewhat difficult conversation?"

Sheridan nodded. "Lieutenant Ivanova contacted Captain Sinclair. She requested a 'care package' for her new squadron mates. She advised us how short they were on things like simple toiletries and basic medications. Her thinking didn't really go past the stage of doing something nice for her new shipmates, but Sinclair knew to kick the matter up to me. If primadona fighter pilots are being rationed, and I say that as one, then the bulk of your crews must really be struggling...to say nothing of your civilians. Admiral, Madame President, if I understand your situation correctly, you threw together your evacuation fleet in a few hours, with no time to so much as think about the kinds of supplies you might need, much less gather them. My fleet, on the other hand, had most of a year to consider and prepare. We're not exactly overflowing at the seams with resources, but we are comfortable enough for now. And your fleet's population is barely a fraction of ours."

"So you're offering to help us?" Roslin asked curiously.

"I'm hoping we can help each other."

Adama thought about that statement for a moment, covering it by taking off his glasses and wiping them clean. "Nothing comes free, huh?"

Sheridan actually seemed embarrassed. "I'd like to trust you. As few humans as there are left, we should all be family. But, my responsibility is such that I simply can't afford to trust easily. Captain Sinclair reported on his recent meeting with you, so I know that, just like us, you would have jumped away if you hadn't had ships with downed jump drives. Frankly, we might still have just run if your fleet hadn't somehow gotten between us and the jump gate."

Bill blinked a few times. "The what?"

"The jump gate." Seeing the looks of confusion on their faces, he rapidly appended, "I suppose, given how all of your ships are jump capable, you must just use it for the beacon." Seeing their confusion only growing, he paused, considering. "Surely you must have at least followed the beacon here? How else would you have gotten to this system?"

Adama considered for a moment, then simply said, "I have no idea what either a beacon or a jump gate is."

"But then how the hell do you navigate through hyperspace?"

"Hyperspace?"

Sheridan grunted. "I keep forgetting that our languages aren't quite identical. We keep running into words and terms that don't quite match up. Hyperspace is the supradimensional realm we enter, and through which we navigate, in order to achieve faster than light speeds. Navigating through it to find new destinations is incredibly dangerous. So how the hell did you get here if you _didn't_ follow the beacon network?"

"Commodore...when we initiate our FTL drives, we just point them at a set of coordinates and jump. I'm no expert on the principle, but so far as I know there's no interface with any extradimensional plane. That's sounds...suspiciously fantastic, frankly."

Sheridan began pacing in agitation. "You mean you've got an FTL system that doesn't use hyperspace? But _nobody_ , has a system other than hyperspace. Well... _maybe_ the Vorlons, but they're the _Vorlons_."

"Commodore," Roslin drew his attention, "we seem to keep getting bogged down in our technical difference. Which is why we decided to take things slow. I'm sure we will read about all of this in this contact package you have brought us. We are sending you something similar. Perhaps we should let each other absorb the material before we worry too much about such intricacies."

"Of course, Madame President. I appreciate your practicality."

"Frankly, Commodore, we came to this meeting in the hopes that, for the time being, our fleets could travel together. Support each other. We both have enemies to face, but I believe that we will be stronger together than apart. We have our own mistrusts to overcome. Given our own recent history, I have a very hard time trusting a military dictatorship."

"Only a temporary one, Madame President. But we have very good reason to ensure it is so. Especially given _our_ recent history."

"And I am sure that I will read all about them in the contact package. But, for the time being, perhaps we should return to your suggestion for how we can help each other."

"Of course. Well, it's simple really. At least, I hope it is. We have supplies your people are in need of. But you have something that we want. Artificial gravity. Despite our best efforts, our officers and crew are beginning to degrade from the constant exposure to zero gravity."

Bill shook his head. "I think we're both agreed that we're not quite at the point yet where we are willing to release our technological secrets to each other."

"And I'm not asking for them. We don't have the capacity to rapidly turn such knowledge into an artificial gravity field on our ships anyway. But I'm hoping that you do."

Laura nodded. "Perhaps. Admiral?"

"It's not like we're carrying a lot of spare grav plate. What we have is what's already in use. And the maintenance teams have been working hard just to keep it running."

"We need those supplies, Bill. Your people managed to make a whole new fighter. Surely they can put something together here."

"We'd have to literally rip grav plating out of our own ships. I suppose we could find locations where the plating isn't critical...cargo bays, maybe. But that won't be anywhere near enough to equip the Earth fleet.

"We don't need to equip the entire fleet," Sheridan interrupted, "just our military vessels. Most of the civilians are under spin the majority of the time. Hell, I'd be satisfied with just high presence areas the crew occupy for significant periods of time...bridge, engineering, the mess, residences if possible...those places we get the most impact to crew health and readiness. We wouldn't want it everywhere anyway. Our ships were designed with zero gravity in mind, and some areas would be less efficient if that were to change."

Bill contemplated for a few moments, then nodded. "I think we should be able to do that. It'll be tricky, both the extraction and the installation. I imagine just putting the power runs in place will be a small nightmare. We'll need to assemble a joint workforce. Hopefully that'll help build trust as well. Yes, it should be doable. And in exchange, we get…?"

"Food, medicine, toiletries and sanitation products. Really, tell us what you need. So long as it's not in really short supply...well, as I said, your civilian fleet is a lot smaller than ours."

Bill stepped forward and held out his hand. "Then you have a deal, Commodore."

Sheridan shook his hand enthusiastically. "Thank you, Admiral. I'd better get back to my fleet and begin making preparations." He stepped back and fired off a salute.

Bill returned the salute then called out to the guard in the hall, "Marine, escort the Commodore back to his ship."

After the Commodore had left, Laura downed her tequila and turned to face him. "Bill, did you happen to notice anything about the Commodore?"

He grunted, and sipped more sedately at his own drink, then went to refill both of their glasses. Finally, he said, "A good man in a tough situation."

"A drowning man...or floundering at least. He's far too young for so much responsibility."

"He can't just be the Admiral...he has to be the President too. I'm glad I wasn't stupid enough to think I could handle that." At her pointed look he added, "Well, not for very long, anyway. Let's just say I'm very glad not to be in that position now."

"But John Sheridan is...and he is full of self doubt. You can see it. He never expected to be in the position he's in, and it's clearly been difficult. He's desperate for a lifeline, and he thinks he's found one."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Bill, you saw the way he was looking at you, deferring to you. He's barely met you twice, and already you can tell he views you as a wise mentor...a father figure. You need to encourage that, Admiral."

"Don't be silly. The man's in charge of a larger and more powerful fleet than I am. I'm not even in his chain of command."

"Which makes you safe, Bill. He doesn't have to defer to you as an officer. He doesn't really have to worry about us militarily. They've got us outnumbered two to one in military ships, and they certainly have more troops than we do. So, when he looks at you he can set aside all that baggage...and just see a fount of wisdom and kindness."

Chuckling, he said, "I doubt many of the crew think of me as kind."

"Perhaps. But that man, Bill, he sees someone he can look up to. Someone he can listen to. You need to be that person for him. Be that substitute father. The survival of this fleet...and perhaps even his...may depend on it."

"My relationship with Lee is difficult enough without adopting new sons into the mix."

"Bill," she said, not unkindly, "you and I both know that half the officers and crew of this fleet...hell, even a good portion of the civilians...look up to you as a surrogate father figure. This relationship just happens to be far more important. It needs to be developed."

He sighed. "Alright, I'll do it. I'll try to arrange some sort of weekly meeting with him. Discuss joint fleet defense or something. Maybe I'll offer to introduce him to a Cylon. They've got to be interested."

"Good. That'll give him plenty of opportunity to become more attached." Seeing his disapproving look, she added, "it's critical to the safety and well being of this fleet."

"I just wish it didn't feel so manipulative."

"That's because it is manipulative, Admiral. Deal with it."


	23. Chapter 21 - Changing Courses

**Chapter 21 - Changing Courses**

 **.**

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Battlestar Galactica - July, 2249**

"Sir! Lieutenant Susan Ivanova, reporting as ordered, Sir!"

Bill returned her salute and gave an "at ease," then chuckled. The woman stood ramrod straight even in an At Ease position. He could tell she was nervous. But despite her youth, and she was _very_ young, he could tell that it was due more to the oddity of being called before the Admiral than from any particular attribute of his or any lack of confidence in herself. This was clearly a highly confident and competent woman. "Relax, Russki. You're not in any trouble. Walk with me." He led the way out of the room and down the hall. "Commodore Sheridan and Colonel Garibaldi are on board, and they requested your participation. It's hoped that your time living and working amongst us might provide insights which help to prevent any cultural misunderstandings. Our separate frames of reference have lead to difficulties, despite our common language."

"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir."

"This meeting is likely to be...tense. Just so that you are prepared."

"I'll do my best, Admiral."

He grunted. "What do you know about the Cylons, Russki?"

"What their fighters look like. The best way to engage them in space combat. I know they're synthetics...AI, but that they decided to destroy their creators. Apart from that, people have been rather reticent to go into detail. I gather that they developed some sort of camouflage, which allowed them to infiltrate the colonies and sabotage it from within. Apart from that, all I really know is that people refer to them as toasters."

"Just so long as you understand that they aren't human."

Russki glanced at him askance, clearly taken aback by the statement. "Yes, Admiral. I presume that would be obvious."

"You'd be surprised. Or rather, you will. Here we are." They had arrived at the Flight Deck Ready Room which had become their informal reception point from visiting Earth Alliance personnel. They were just in time to watch the landing.

Commodore Sheridan and Colonel Garibaldi had elected to fly themselves across in Starfuries rather than taking a shuttle. Once again, Bill marvelled at just how awkward that landing looked, with the fighters rolling over backwards to land on their engine bells. They simply weren't designed for landing on a ship under gravity. He had offered to evac the flight deck and shut down the grav plating, but the Commodore had declined the offer, saying it was better to adapt to the new reality. Bill found that laudable, and resolved to adapt himself… but he was _certain_ he'd never get used to looking at a fighter cockpit and seeing the pilot's _feet_. Bizarre.

Moments later he was going through the coming aboard procedure as Sheridan and Garibaldi entered the Ready Room. "Welcome back to the Galactica," he offered, extending a hand.

"It's good to be here, Sir," Sheridan replied with a grin. "I have to admit, you've got me curious about this Cylon." Glancing to his left over Bill's shoulder, he made eye contact with Russki. "Lieutenant. You're doing well?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"If you'll follow me." Bill turned about and led them on a long and winding route through the bowels of the ship. They passed a checkpoint into the Brig, Sheridan and Garibaldi and even Russki looking around in curiosity. They passed the short term holding cells and back towards the more long term facilities. Finally, they entered a small side corridor, ending in a heavy, locked hatch. It was crowded, filled really, by Colonel Tigh, a trio of Marine guards, and a pair of the President's bodyguards. And the President herself. Once more, greetings were exchanged. Tigh and Roslin ordered the Marines and bodyguards to remain outside. The Marine closest to the hatch unlocked and threw it open. Roslin strode through, followed by Colonel Tigh and the Earth officers. Bill followed them through, and then closed and dogged the hatch behind him.

He was a bit surprised to see Helo in the room. He was completely unsurprised to note the confusion and consternation on the faces of the Earth Alliance officers.

Helo had stood and come to attention the moment they entered. He'd been sitting on the bunk next to the Cylon. The Cylon itself paid them no mind, continuing to stare blankly at the bulkhead. She was getting thin, clearly not having been eating. Helo had probably brought in the uneaten tray of food sitting next to her. Bill had to remind himself she...it...was just a Cylon. He had begun to trust her...it...and even given it a mission. And then she had betrayed him. Cylons just couldn't be trusted.

"Gentlemen and lady, this is a Cylon," Roslin announced.

"She has a name," Helo snapped. "Admiral, what's going on?"

"At ease, Lieutenant. The Earth Alliance fleet is in danger from the Cylons as much as we are. They deserve to see the face of the enemy."

"Admiral," Helo argued, visibly fighting to remain calm, "Sharon's not the enemy. She risked her life to pull Anders and all those other Resistance fighters off of Caprica."

"And then she used that act to try to sneak a Cylon on board this ship! Now shut up, Lieutenant, or I'll have you tossed out."

Bill meant it to. This scene was clearly making their visitors uncomfortable, and he wasn't willing to accept that. Helo, unfortunately, was just so damned ernest, that he didn't know when to quit. "Admiral...we'd just lost the baby. She was depressed and not thinking straight...please…"

Whatever it was he was going to ask, Bill would never know. Russki interrupted, grabbing everyone's attention by spinning on the President and blurting, "You monster...how could you?!"

Adama would have called her to task, but Sheridan and Tigh both did so simultaneously, snapping, "Lieutenant!" Roslin simply gave her a confused look, while Garibaldi looked entirely too curious.

"The baby didn't die. She kidnapped it and told the parents she was dead. Doing that to an enemy is wrong...but how could you do that to one of your own officers? It's his child too! And after you used it to save your own life!" Russki was clearly incensed...and just as clearly not thinking about what she was blurting out. The words struck the room like a bomb.

"That's a hell of an accusation to make!" Tigh snapped. He wasn't the only one who was clearly furious. Sheridan whirled on her, clearly intent on dressing her down. Roslin just looked stunned. Bill understood the feeling. How could the girl possibly know these things?

"Lieutenant Ivanova," Sheridan snarled, "you've been with this fleet for less than a week, and already you're breaking regs regarding telepathic scans? Explain yourself!"

Before she could do so, a small voice asked, "What did you say?" The Cylon...Sharon Valerii...had finally taken notice of them. She still sat in the same position, but she had turned her head and focused her eyes. They bored into Russki. "What did you say about my baby?" Some small semblance of hope had seemed to kindle in her. It fairly blazed from Helo.

"How could you possibly know that?" Roslin asked in bemusement, echoing Bill's earlier thoughts. He only nodded in his desire to get an answer.

Russki looked around the room, realizing she had well and truly stepped in it. And not knowing whom to answer first. She let her conscience decide, and turned to Valerii. "I said your baby is alive. And still with the fleet." Turning to Roslin next, she replied, "I keep telling everyone I'm a telepath. It's right next to my name in giant letters at the top of my personnel file!" Finally turning to Sheridan, she shifted her eyes, clearly uncomfortable with his murderous glare. Picking a point on the bulkhead behind him to stare at, she braced herself to attention and replied, "My apologies, Commodore, but I didn't perform any scans. The President was practically broadcasting the information, she was so focused on it. She may have a great poker face, but her mind leaks information like a sieve." She began to lose composure a bit. "Well, it's not _my_ fault that everyone on this ship goes around thinking at the tops of their lungs! Ummm….I mean….well, you _know_ what I mean! Commander Bester can explain better than I can," she finished sheepishly. Then she turned a curious eye on the President, "Actually, the President here leaks information far more than most. I'm no expert...but she might have some affinity for telepathy. Not a telepath, mind you, but perhaps with some basic disposition. Either that or _something_ has opened her mind."

Adama's head swam at the bizarre monologue. Was it _possible_ that this telepathy thing was actually _real_? How else would she have known? Sheridan's initial ire had clearly passed, and now he turned an unreadable expression upon Laura. "Is this true?" he asked simply.

Roslin paused for several seconds, looking thoughtful. Finally, nodding to herself, she simply offered, "Yes, it is."

"How could you?" Helo demanded.

Sharon leapt to her feet, but Tigh was having none of that. "Sit the frak down!" he commanded, striding across the room. Helo stepped protectively in front of her, raising his hands.

Sheridan seemed disinterested in the byplay, turning slowly to Adama. "And were you aware of this, Admiral?"

Without hesitation, Bill replied. "I was." The look on Helo's face was shocked and betrayed. The Cylon had begun to cry. Russki, realizing belatedly that she was the cause of all of this, had pressed herself back against a bulkhead, and was trying to look as small as possible...much to Colonel Garibaldi's apparent amusement.

Sheridan took a deep breath, then stepped over in front of Helo, and jerked his head to the side, commanding him to move. After a moment's hesitation, the young man did so. This allowed Sheridan to look down on and inspect the woman known as Sharon Valerii. The Cylon.

"And you claim this woman isn't human? You have medical scans to back this up?" He was staring at Sharon, but his words were clearly for Bill.

"To most instruments they are medically indistinguishable from humans. We have a Cylon detector, but it doesn't seem to work perfectly...and you would need Baltar to tell you how it works at all," Bill offered in disgust.

Turning to look over his shoulder at Russki, the Commodore asked, "And her mind? Is there any indication there that she isn't human?"

Russki concentrated for a moment, then shook her head. "There are some oddities there...a bit of an affinity for telepathy….very similar to the President's mind, actually. But nothing too out of the ordinary or that would indicate she wasn't human."

Glancing over at Helo, he then added, "And apparently these Cylons are capable of interbreeding with humans. Which, if I remember my grade school biology correctly, is actually a sign of being the same species." Turning around to regard the President once again, he slowly continued. "So, what I've got here, is a woman who gives just about every indication of being human, and a man who is both human and one of your officers...and your government has abducted their child and advised them that this child was dead. And further, the criminal activity that landed her in this cell...that might have provided some tiny justification for this abhorrent action...that happened after the kidnapping, not before it. Is that about right?"

"Now just a moment, Commodore," Roslin began to protest, but he spoke over her.

"I've heard a lot of self-superior commentary from some of the members of your fleet. Shock at how the Earth Alliance fleet is a military dictatorship, while the 'enlightened' Colonial fleet has free and democratic elections...a civilian government." He paused. "If this is the kind of behavior I can expect from a free and democratically elected government under these circumstances...then I have no doubt my fleet is operating under the correct command structure." He paused for a moment, considering, while Laura bristled under his scrutiny and commentary. "But, I believe I have a solution to offer you. You clearly don't trust this woman. It's pretty clear you don't trust her...partner...either. I am willing to find a spot for them in my fleet. Some place more comfortable and appropriate than a cell. Then perhaps you could return their child to them."

Roslin was clearly about to say something acerbic, so Bill decided to cut in. "That won't be necessary Commodore." Sheridan turned an enquiring eye towards him. "Sometimes the best way to determine the morality of a course of action is to view it through the eyes of a third party. Helo is a valued member of my crew...and it should be possible for Ms. Valerii to regain some trust that she has recently squandered. To become a full member of this fleet. We'll be releasing her shortly. She'll have to remain under watch by the Marines for the time being...but that should hopefully be temporary. Colonel Tigh, why don't you take Lieutenant Agathon down to crew quarters, and get him set up with a family housing cabin. We'll move Ms. Valerii in shortly after that...and then return their child. I'll ensure they are granted family status."

"Bill?" Tigh asked uncertainly.

"Just do it, Saul."

Tigh nodded without a word, and then collected Helo and turned to leave. Helo felt compelled to offer, "Thank you, Admiral. Commodore." He hurried out after the Colonel.

Roslin stepped forward. "And I'll return the child...Hera...to Ms. Valerii. She's currently residing aboard Colonial One. As you know, I have the Presidential Oath of Office ceremony in a couple of hours. Immediately afterward, I will personally deliver Hera back to her mother."

"Commodore," Bill said, "I hope you understand that the actions previously taken were done with what we hoped were the best interests of the fleet in mind. But I'm glad you called us out on it."

"Well, we can't change past mistakes, Admiral. We can only try to correct them and move on. An effort which I appreciate. And on that note...it seems Ms. Ivanova is having a hard time screening out everyone's thoughts. I know that can be disconcerting. If you wish, I can have her withdrawn and replaced with an officer who isn't a telepath."

"That won't be necessary, Commodore. We've started to grow quite fond of Russki here. That includes her...occasional lack of discretion."

"She does tend to grow on you," Sheridan agreed. "That having been said, please don't hesitate to reach out with any concerns. Now, I think Ms. Valerii has had enough excitement for one visit. We should probably call it a day. I'd like the chance to speak with her again in the future, if that's acceptable. I'd also appreciate any medical information you do have on the Cylons."

"I'll have Doc Cottle and Baltar compile and send it to you," Bill affirmed. He then called out sharply, "Marine." The hatch sprang open, the Marine on duty having paid close attention. "Lieutenant Ivanova. Please escort our guests back to the flight deck. Take all the time you need to answer any questions they may have."

Bill waited in silence for half a minute after they had left to give them a chance to get out of earshot, then walked out without a word. Roslin followed him out, as he knew she would. She waited just long enough to get beyond earshot of the Marines. "Admiral," she all but hissed, "just exactly what the _hells_ do you think you're doing!?"

"Exactly what you asked me to."

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted me to build a relationship with the Commodore. To build trust. To get him to listen to me." He stopped walking, turning to face her directly. "Like most children, there's no chance of him listening to me if I don't return the courtesy. You want a familial relationship with the Commodore? This is part of the price. It won't be the only one." Having made his point, he turned and resumed walking. After only a tiny hesitation, she did the same, matching him stride for stride. "Besides, he may be right. Taking the child...it might not have been the right thing to do."

Roslin only snorted, then walked in silence for a few more moments. "And the telepath? Are we buying into that fairy tale now?"

"How else would she have known?"

"Then why didn't you have her replaced when it was offered?"

"Because that's not the action of someone who is trustworthy. No, we'll have to tackle the telepath problem a different way."

"Oh? You have something in mind?"

"Well, if we're very lucky, then Baltar will be able to rig up some sort of countermeasure. I wouldn't hold my breath, though."

"And until that glorious day?"

"We'll simply have to be less...furtive."

"Oh, joy."

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Cloud 9 - July, 2249**

Gaius Baltar walked uncertainly through the door into the apartment he had arranged on the Cloud 9. An apartment that, hopefully, no one else was aware of. He tried to shrug off his nerves. _I don't have anything to worry about. This is going to be fine._ The source of his concern greeted him morosely. She just never seemed happy. Not that he could blame her for that. She was still working her way through the trauma she had endured. The woman directed him to take a seat on the couch. She then sat on her knees facing him, her crowded coffee table between them.

 _Gina. Gina Inviere. Cylon. Gods she's beautiful._ Despite being quite possibly the smartest man in the Colonies...Baltar knew he was never quite able to stop thinking with his other head. He remembered what she had looked like, beaten and battered, completely in shock, as he had tried to work with her in her cell aboard the Pegasus. She had been beautiful even then. He fumbled with his words for a moment, not quite certain how to start, looking anywhere but at her. "Well….well. Roslin will be remaining as President. I'm sorry. She...knows I had some part in the fall of the Colonies. She has no proof, but she's going to be coming after me. Well….I think my ability to see you will no doubt be...uhhh...requirements of countering whatever move she has in mind...and the scrutiny I will no doubt be under. They might throw me in a cell...but in the end they have no proof! Justice will be served! Listen to me," he added with a chuckle. "I sound like a lawyer. But obviously, we...umm...we will have the chance to connect...to, uhh...to get together again, once this blows over...once…"

"It's alright Gaius. I never had any intention of going to New Caprica. This is almost a relief."

He looked at her in confusion. "What? What are you talking about?"

"I never intended to go to New Caprica." His confusion intensified. Had he been President, they would all have gone to New Caprica. But before he could argue, she continued. "Gaius...if this woman is going to remain President...I need to understand her. I need to know that she isn't Cain. I need to see her with my own eyes."

"That's...that's more than impossible...that's crazy. There's no way that could happen."

"You're required to be at her swearing in aboard Colonial One, aren't you? Take me with you."

"Are you insane?" he asked sharply. When her face crumpled and her gaze dropped immediately to the floor, he amended, "No...no...I didn't mean it like that. It's just that...this is Colonial One. Security will be tight. They will certainly recognize that you're a Cylon. And Roslin will have you...will have us both...put out an airlock."

"Then just hide me aboard your shuttle. I won't pass through security. I'll stay hidden. I just need to hear her words for myself. Please, Gaius."

He dropped his gaze to the table. "I can't do this anymore." He stood, gave her one last glance, and walked around the table, heading for the door.

"Stay," came her uncertain voice, from behind his back. He paused for a moment, then turned to look at her. Without turning to look at him, without rising from her knees, she slowly undid the hooks fastening her top. Once that was done, she shrugged it off and down her arms, exposing her naked, scarred back and shoulder to him. Setting her blouse to the side, she slowly rose and turned towards him. Crossing her arms in front of her to cover her exposed chest, she walked slowly, without a further word, towards the sleeping alcove.

Gaius followed her with some trepidation, but very little hesitation. Standing with her back to him in the semi-darkened alcove, facing the bed, she slowly pulled her skirt down over her hips, then drew it down her long legs. All thoughts of leaving having vanished, Gaius pulled off his jacket and tie, then began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Looking up, he saw her holding out her hand to him. With the barest hesitation, he reached out and took it, and allowed himself to be pulled into the glories that were Gina Inviere.

.

.

"If you will raise your right hand and repeat after me…"

Less than two hours later, Baltar found himself aboard Colonial One, surrounded by people who cared nothing about him, and a good many who actively despised him. He didn't want to listen to that bitch retake her Oath of Office...but he hadn't been given a choice.

The officiating priest was continuing. "I, Laura Roslin, do now avow and affirm..."

Her response was steady and unwavering, "I, Laura Roslin, do now avow and affirm..."

"...that I take the office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol without any reservation or mental evasion…"

"...that I take the office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol without any reservation or mental evasion…"

"...that I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization..."

"...that I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization..."

"...with every fiber of my being."

"...with every fiber of my being."

"Congratulations Madame President," the priest offered, smiling and shaking her hand. General applause broke out all around. There was a rush of well wishing and congratulations. No one paid attention to him.

Well, almost no one. "Gaius Baltar. What a pleasure seeing you here. Enjoying the ceremony?"

Baltar turned. Saul Tigh. And his wife. "Colonel Tigh," he said without acknowledging the insulting question. "What are you doing here?"

"The Admiral couldn't make it. He sent me as his representative. We're just here to put on a happy face." The man did indeed seem to be quite pleased with himself. He was certainly enjoying the free drinks.

"Oh," his wife...Ellen, if Gaius remembered correctly...commented, "didn't you also need to speak with Ms. Foster? She seemed quite upset about something."

The Colonel shot her a disapproving glare. Clearly he didn't want to discuss the topic. He supposed there might have been something worth digging for there, but Gaius really couldn't have cared less.

He turned without a further word and made his way back to the shuttle. That woman was surrounded by fools and sycophants. He just wanted to be away. Well, if anything good came of this day, at least Gina might be happy. It had still been an incredible risk, bringing her along, but at least she had agreed to stay on the shuttle, and merely listen in. If anyone had seen her, the alarms would certainly have been raised by now.

He boarded the shuttle which had been set aside for him, without acknowledging the young pilot sitting in the cockpit, and headed for the side room in which Gina would be waiting. Opening the door, he walked into the empty room. That was unsurprising. No doubt, she was hiding as she had promised. You couldn't be too safe. He walked over and opened the closet. Empty. Surprised, he backed up, then spun and checked under the bed. Nothing. He bolted up and scanned the room wildly. There was nowhere else to hide. _Wait...that footlocker...you could maybe squeeze…_ Tearing open the lid, he looked in at a pile of spare sheets. It took less than a second to confirm that she wasn't hiding underneath them. _She's not in the room!_

Tearing open the door, he darted back into the main cabin of the shuttle. Empty. His eyes settled on the door to the bathroom, and he darted inside there. No one. He took the time to open the tiny cabinets, even though there was no possible way she could squeeze inside those. Panic set in. _She left the shuttle. Impossible! She promised! She couldn't be so foolish!_ He opened the door and dazedly stepped back into the main cabin, once more looking around in blind hope. Nothing.

"Is everything alright, Sir?" It was the pilot. The little twit was looking at him as though she might possibly be able to help him.

He stared at her blankly. _Gina's going to get herself thrown out an airlock._

"Sir?"

 _Gina's going to get_ me _thrown out an airlock!_

"Sir, are you alright?"

Shaking himself, he put on a smile. "Yes. Yes, of course. It's just been a long day, and I'm afraid I'm rather exhausted." _Have to get out of here!_ "I'm not really all that welcome either...being the opposition party and all. If it's alright with you, I'd just really like to get out of here immediately."

"You'll miss the buffet."

He felt like strangling the little twit, but then, who would fly the shuttle? "It's alright, I'm not really hungry.

She sighed. Clearly _she_ was going to miss the buffet, but she had a job to do. "Back to Cloud 9, Sir?" she asked, turning to her controls.

"No! I mean...I was just visiting a friend there. My quarters are aboard the Galactica. Please take me there.

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Combat Action Patrol - July, 2249**

"Coming up on waypoint," Russki commed to her Wingman. "Which ship is that?"

"It's the Cloud 9. At this velocity we should be there in just over a minute." Kat seemed disinterested in the conversation, but at least she was no longer hostile. Susan would take it.

She also couldn't tear her eyes away from that ship. She loved the green cores of the Whitestars, but they always felt artificial. Looking up and seeing people and trees upside down and above you tended to do that. But the huge dome of Cloud 9 somehow gave the impression of looking down directly onto a planetary surface. It was mesmerizing.

Thus, she was staring right at the ship when the damned thing exploded. "Frag me!" she shouted, horrified. "Galactica, this is the CAP, declaring an emergency! Please respond!"

"CAP, Galactica Actual. What the frak is happening out there?"

"The Cloud 9 just exploded, Admiral! It must have been nuclear. I'm seeing...one...two...at least three other ships destroyed in the blast. Oh, shit….I don't see Colonial One!

There was a long pause. "Any chance of survivors?" Came the quiet response.

"Unknown, Sir. It's bad...but it might be possible...on the other ships."

"Then get in there and start looking. We're launching all birds now. I'll contact Commodore Sheridan to see if he can lend a hand. Galactica Actual...out."

Susan took a deep breath, then accelerated her Viper towards a small slice of hell.

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Battlestar Galactica - July, 2249**

Gaius Baltar leaned forward, palms flat against his lab table, trying to relax and stay calm. Trying to shake off the fear and the nerves and the mass of guilt that plagued him. The woman he had come to think of as the Six in his Head, seated on the table directly in front of him, was trying her best to help him with that. Of course, the fact that his pants and her dress….that lovely red dress...were down around their ankles, definitely helped in the relaxation. On the other hand….things were gradually going from relaxing to frantic.

He didn't hear the hatch open. He did, however, hear the scream, _"Oh my God!"_

His hips froze, body still hunched over Six, and his head and eyes swiveled to stare at the woman standing with her mouth and eyes wide. _Gods_. It was that Earther pilot. The Lieutenant. _What was her name again?_

"Lieutenant Ivanova," he said calmly, "it's good to see you. I was just…" _What do I say?_ She couldn't see Head Six, afterall. _Just say something. I know..._ He bounced up and down on his toes. "Just keeping up with the old exercises. He shook out his arms and rotated his head. "That should...uh...do me…..do me for today." He turned his back to her, rapidly reaching down to pull up his pants. "So, uh, what...oh, ha ha, I feel a lot better, what brings you to the lab at this time of the night?"

Ivanova and Six responded to him simultaneously. "It's the middle of the afternoon." Six continued, leaning in close to lick his earlobe then whisper in his ear, "you keep making that same mistake, Gaius."

"Yeah, of course it is. Crazy workload. I totally, totally lose track of time. So, uhmm...what can I do for you?"

Glancing at him from where she had been averting her eyes, she responded, "Just zip up your fly." Her eyes then shot back up to the ceiling, her face a bright red.

Frantically, he glanced down to see his shirt sticking out past his pant zipper. He frantically stuffed it back in, then zipped and adjusted. He then slowly straightened and tried to act casual. "So, uhh…?"

"I'm terribly sorry Doctor Baltar. I didn't actually mean to come in here. It's just that I was at the end of of an eight hour CAP, and then the Cloud 9 went up and I spent the next six hours doing rescue operations, and somebody got it in their head that the other exchange pilots and I were the perfect candidates for running Ops coordination for the rescue efforts, so then I ended up trying to act as an ambassador and interpreter and traffic control, all while still flying rescue ops….and I'm sorry but I'm just completely exhausted. And this ship is even bigger and more confusing than the Nova, which I didn't think was possible, and I just lost track of where I was, and I thought this hatch was a shortcut back to the barracks...and I'm so sorry for interrupting you Doctor. I'll just get out of here." The poor girl...and she was indeed very young...was still staring at the ceiling, but she began to back out of the hatch.

Six leaned back over the desk to look at the girl more fully. "There's something terribly interesting about this one. We'll have to pay particular attention to her."

"No!" Gaius said sharply.

"Excuse me?" the two women said simultaneously, both looking directly at him.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me. I mean, no, why don't you let me escort you back to the barracks, I know the way."

Ivanova looked terribly uncomfortable. "That's really not necessary, Doctor. You can just go back to...what you were doing."

Six rolled her head back, giving him a very direct and very serious stare. "What are you up to, Gaius?"

"If you're as tired as you say, then you're liable to get turned around again," Baltar replied smoothly. "Then you'll get even less rest. I could have you tucked into your bunk in just a few minutes."

"Really, Doctor…."

"Please. There's nothing I'd rather be doing."

Six hopped down off of the table and sauntered right up to him, completely unbothered by her complete lack of garb, so she could lay her right hand on his shoulder and stare over hers at the officer at the hatch. "You and I were just making love on the table, and there's _nothing_ you'd rather be doing?" She reached down with her other hand and squeezed him someplace terribly uncomfortable.

He winced, but she wasn't done. "Gaius Baltar, you are _unbelievable_. You really do want to tuck her into her bunk. She just walked through the door, and you already want to frak her."

"Doc...you're clearly a very busy man. I'd hate to waste your time," the Lieutenant said at the same time as Six's statement. She took another half step back towards the hatch.

"Don't be ridiculous…" he said, uncertain to which of them he was saying it.

"You really _do_ want to frak her. This _child_. I didn't realize you were into pedophilia, Gaius. Or is it lesbians? Want to tame one for yourself? Does that butch uniform really do it for you? Well, _go ahead Gaius_. The table's open now. I won't mind. Just bend her over and go to town." Baltar tried to say something, but Six was far from done. "Go ahead, Gaius. I can see it in your eyes, and I _certainly_ felt it. You'd like nothing better than to be swatting that fat ass, and hanging on to those udders of hers…"

In three strides Russki crossed the room and laid her fist upside of Six's jaw. Six flew backwards to slam into the rear wall of the small room, then dropped to her ass on the floor, her legs tangled up beneath her. Russki took another step forward to loom over the blond, hands clasped loosely behind her back. "Not that it's _any_ of your business, but I am not a child. This uniform is not butch. I am not gay. And you are the _last_ person who should be accusing someone of having udders or a fat ass."

Gaius stood, stunned speechless. His gaze darted back and forth between the two women. Eyes wide, Six seemed equally shocked.

But the pilot wasn't done, it seemed. "And another thing. If either of you ever speak to me like that again, I will personally drag you both through that hatch, down the hall, across the ship to the nearest airlock, and toss you both out! And just one more thing. I'd like you both to develop a personal mantra. Ivanova is always listening. I will not insult Ivanova. I will respect Ivanova at all times. Ivanova...is God. _And, if this ever happens again...airlock!_ " Russki turned and was out the hatch in four strides, slamming it shut behind her.

Baltar turned and stared down at Six. Bizarrely, she was smiling. And still not giving a damn about being naked. "Like I said, Gaius. There's something terribly interesting about that one."

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Battlestar Galactica - July, 2249**

Admiral William Adama marched down the halls of the Galactica, a pair of Marines in tow. He refused to acknowledge the bulk of his thoughts and feelings regarding the recent calamity. But this one action..this one responsibility...he was very much looking forward to. Gaius Baltar was finally going to see some justice.

Arriving at the door to Baltar's lab, he threw open the hatch without knocking and strode in. The Marines, half a step behind him, nearly ran into him when he froze upon seeing the occupants of the room. Baltar was not alone. He was conversing with Tom Zarek.

Zarek rose. "Admiral. I'm glad you're here. I was going to speak with you next, after Doctor Baltar here."

Bill didn't appreciate the interruption, but kept his irritation mostly in check. "Regarding?"

"The future actions of the fleet, of course. But, before we get into that, it looked like you had a specific purpose for being here. Please, don't let my presence stop you."

Bill decided that was good enough. Turning his glare on Baltar, he stated, "The analysis of the Cloud 9 incident is in, and it's definitive. The blast initiated with a nuclear device. Specifically, a device with the exact same yield and energy signature of the device we loaned to you. Neither Cylon nor the Earth Alliance nukes have this signature. We checked. All of our stocks of that model of nuke have been accounted for. Yours is missing. Tell me, Doctor Baltar, do you happen to have that nuke."

"I do not."

"Then either it was stolen from your lab, and smuggled aboard Cloud 9 by a Cylon agent, or you handed it over, perhaps for that purpose."

Baltar grew indignant. "Don't be ridiculous, Admiral."

"This may be the first step in a coordinated Cylon attack," Adama ground on, biting back his urge to shake the fool. "My first priority will be to focus in on internal security. To that end…"

"No," Baltar cut him off. Bill stopped in astonishment. "No, I don't think so," Baltar continued. Our first priority is to the people. I must recommend the we see those people safely established on New Caprica. Once that's established, we can put this tragedy safely behind us."

Adama, seeing red, took a half step forward, _"Who in the hells do you think..."_

"Admiral," Zarek cut in sharply. "Perhaps I had better explain why I was here, before this goes too much farther."

"Mr. Zarek, I'm here on official business…"

"As am I," Zarek interrupted again. "Were you aware, Admiral, that the Quorum just convened an emergency session, a session which finished barely an hour ago."

"I'm aware. That's hardly surprising, given the core of our government just vanished."

"Exactly. And in order to maintain continuity of that government, decisions had to be made. The President is gone. The Line of Succession had to be determined."

Adama looked from Zarek to Baltar in horror. "The President's not dead."

Baltar scoffed. "Colonial One was in the blast radius. And now it's gone. Unless you've been hiding the President in you cupboards, then of course she's dead."

Zarek held out a hand to indicate that Baltar should shut up, but Bill responded hotly anyway. "All of the other ships destroyed were either largely intact or left massive debris behind. Even Cloud 9. And yet there's nothing of the President's ship. Not so much as a single fleck of paint has been found. Colonial One was the farthest from the blast of the affected vessels. It couldn't possibly have been vaporized."

"Then where is she?" Zarek asked with honest curiosity.

"We speculate that she jumped away."

"That's _ludicrous_ ," Baltar interjected. "You're saying that Colonial One's pilot had the reaction speed to jump away from an _unexpected nuclear explosion!?_ That's physically impossible. And even leaving that little fact aside," he added, scoffing, "she would have needed to have her engines spooled up, and a destination laid in. And further, if she did jump away, then why hasn't she jumped back? If Colonial One still exists, Admiral, then _where is she?"_

"You're correct that her engines would have needed to be ready to jump. But she wouldn't have needed to have jump coordinates plugged in."

"A blind jump. _Really_." Baltar put as much scorn as he could manage into the final word.

"It would explain why they haven't returned. They could easily be lost, have jumped far enough to require a number of planned jumps to return, or even had their engines damaged in the process."

"And any one of those things could be a death sentence," Baltar continued. "And you left out the possibility that they jumped right into a star, or a planet, or the middle of the Cylon fleet!"

"That's why we go look for her," Bill ground out.

"A waste of resources," Baltar snapped. "As I said before, we need to begin settlement of New Caprica. That is your responsibility now, Admiral."

"The President's not dead," Bill repeated mulishly. He'd be _damned_ if he let Baltar claim the Presidency under these circumstances. He was prepared to order the Marines to put this down right now, but Zarek spoke first.

"Perhaps you are correct, Admiral. I certainly hope so. But it can't be argued that she's not here. Which fits the definition of 'unable to carry out the duties and responsibilities of President.'"

"And when I find her, that won't be the case."

"And as I said," Baltar interjected again, "that search is a dangerous waste of resources. I won't have it. You know my intentions."

"You're not listening."

"I'm the President. I don't need to listen."

"In point of fact, Dr. Baltar," Zarek cut in, "you are not."

Both Bill and Gaius turned to the man in surprise. Baltar spoke first. "Excuse me? I'm the Vice President. The Line of Succession is clear."

Bill smiled. "The President asked you to resign. And when you refused, and ran against her no less, she made if very clear she intended to have you replaced by Wallace Gray."

"Which was never made official!" Baltar objected. "I am still the Vice President."

"Correct Doctor," Zarek stated calmly. "You are still the _Vice_ President. The Quorum has the right to adjust the Line of Succession. President Roslin had made it very clear that removing you would be practically her first action after being sworn back in. Her untimely death or disappearance nullifying that fact, and allowing you to become President...was unpalatable to the Quorum. That, coupled with the fact that the People had just used their ultimate power to decide to keep you out of the Presidency...well, it was more than enough justification for the Quorum to keep you in the VP slot."

Bill smiled. "Then Wallace Gray…"

"Was never sworn in as Vice President," Zarek cut in. "There's only so far the Quorum can bend the Line of Succession. Besides, in case you weren't aware Admiral, Wallace was on board Colonial One when it...when it went missing."

Bill turned to face Zarek directly, his stomach sinking. He knew what the man was about to say, but it was still a shock to hear it.

"The Quorum has officially named me as Acting President." He turned to Baltar. "And no, Vice President Baltar, we will not be settling New Caprica. The People made it very clear that they wish to continue our association with the Earth people. I personally can't stand a military dictatorship...but I won't circumvent the will of the People, no matter how I feel."

"And the search for Colonial One?" Bill asked.

"Should absolutely go ahead. In fact, I hope you weren't waiting on permission to begin. Recovering President Roslin, if possible, is a very high priority for us. Just not the highest. Gaius is correct in that it would be a dangerous expenditure of resources. So you need to limit the search to a force that will not materially detract from the defense of the fleet."

"And if...when, we find her?"

"Then I will happily step aside, and ensure the Quorum returns her to her proper standing. She can do what she wants with Baltar then."

Adama nodded. He supposed he could live with that. Then his glance slid back to Baltar. Time to finish what he had come here for.

"And Admiral," Zarek cut in one more time, "this fleet has had enough conflict and controversy for a while. If the reason you brought those Marines along was to incarcerate the Vice President and hold him responsible for the loss of Cloud 9...then think again. I'll make it an official Presidential Pardon if I need to, but I'd rather avoid the whole mess if at all possible.

Bill stopped and stared at Zarek ...Acting President Zarek, for several moments. He then aimed one last disgusted glare at Baltar, then turned on his heel and marched out. The Marines followed suit, one of them pausing to close the hatch behind them. _Oh well, it could be worse. At least the man's not a_ complete _fool._


	24. Chapter 22 - First Blood

**Chapter 22 - First Blood**

 **.**

 **Unknown System, Colonial One - July, 2249**

Gina Invierre leaned back in the pilot's seat of Colonial One, and sighed contentedly. She looked out the window at the beautiful scenery beyond. Behind her, the pounding on the locked cockpit door was becoming quite violent. Someone out there had found something to use as a battering ram. She propped her feet on the dead body of the copilot, the only one who had been in the cockpit when she had entered, and waited.

The door frame began to splinter, and the whole thing finally gave way with a crash. Armed officers rushed in training their weapons on her. The President was barely a step behind. Gina smiled at her. "Madame President. Welcome."

"I might have known. Can you give me any reason I shouldn't have you tossed out the nearest airlock?"

"Oh, go ahead, if you feel you must. But I'd guess that _they_ might have something to say about the matter." Gina gestured behind her, out the cockpit screen.

Roslin glanced over to where Gina had indicated, and her face went pale. One of the officers was softly cursing, "Frak. Frak. Frak. Frak." Over and over again, unconsciously. Gina looked back over her shoulder at three dozen visible Basestars, the nearest less than five kilometers away. As she looked, she just caught sight of the Heavy Raider, surrounded by a dozen Raiders, swooping in directly above Colonial One. The Centurions were efficient, no doubt they'd be aboard in less than a minute.

The Captain rushed in. "Maybe we can jump."

"Sorry, Captain," Gina offered. "I fully powered down the engines. It'll take at least half an hour to get them powered back up. I don't think you have that long." Heavy clanks were heard on the hull, and the sound of armored feet marching along the outside of the hull, uncaring of the vacuum.

Roslin put her arms out and pushed down the guns the officers still had pointed at Gina. She took a deep breath. "We surrender."

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Battlestar Galactica - July, 2249**

"Action Stations, Action Stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Repeat, Action Stations, Action Stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Launch the alert squadron."

It took Adama less than a minute to reach the CIC. Everything was running smoothly, with most everyone already at their assigned stations. This far into their journey, they had all had plenty of practice. "I need a Sit-Rep," he commanded.

Lieutenant Gaeta turned to face him, reviewing various data printouts. "Admiral, a fleet just jumped in at the edge of DRADIS range. Closing in on us now. We got lucky. The CAP was out that way, at the edge of their patrol range, and were able to identify those vessels. Cylon basestars."

Adama nodded and looked up. The Cylons being at long range would explain the uncertainty of the DRADIS display. Right now it just showed one large contact, designated 'Unknown.' "How many?"

"CAP reports six basestars, Admiral."

Bill grunted as if gut-punched. _Six_. Even Gaeta, always the professional, clearly looked worried. "We've never seen six together for their hunting and search forces. Not since the Fall. This is no accident. They knew we were here."

"Yes, Sir." Gaeta glanced up from another report that Dualla had just handed him. "All ships reporting in. We are ready to jump upon your order."

Adama hesitated. That would certainly be the smart move. "No. Get all birds in the air, and have them link up with Pegasus squadrons between the fleet and the Cylons." Gaeta nodded and carried out the orders, but then turned questioning eyes on his Admiral. Bill didn't owe the man an explanation, but gave it anyway, loud enough for the whole room to here. Might as well let them know the Old Man hadn't gone off his rocker. "The drive system the Earthers uses can't evac a system as fast as we can. If we jump now, we'll be leaving them to the Cylons. And even if they do escape, the odds of us finding each other again are pretty slim. We're sure as hells not going to allow the Cylons to wipe out a few million more humans." Adama paused for a moment to let that sink in. "We buy time for the Earth fleet to pull out, then we follow them through into this 'hyperspace' of theirs. We keep the fleets together." Bill thought Lieutenant Gaeta looked worried. He wasn't the only one. Hells, _he_ was worried, and it was his plan.

"Admiral," Gaeta began cautiously, "we're still not sure what kind of stresses 'hyperspace' will put on our ships. Or if they're even compatible at all."

Adama sighed and removed his glasses. "Guess we're gonna find out. No time like the present."

"Admiral," Dualla called out, "the Earth Alliance is attempting to hail the Cylons."

Bill glanced up sharply, but before he could say anything, Gaeta had a further report. "EA fleet does not appear to be evacuating. The Nova and Lexington are moving forward to place themselves between the fleet and the Cylons."

"What the frak is Sheridan up to?" Bill muttered under his breath. "That boy is gonna get us all killed." _I wish Saul was here._ He needed the man's confidence, his insights. "Have the Cylons sent any broadcasts to the Earth fleet?" he asked Dualla.

"Not that we've detected, Sir."

"Put me through to Commodore Sheridan." he snatched up the handset without looking, his eyes glued to the DRADIS display, and pressed it to his face. The line was dead for just a moment, and then a static filled hiss indicated the line was live. "Commodore Sheridan, this is Galactica Actual. Over."

"Actually over what, Admiral?" Sheridan sounded more distracted than confused.

Bill bit off a sharp retort. The man wasn't in his chain of command, and couldn't be blamed for having different comm protocols. "This is Admiral Adama. Commodore, it is urgent that you cease all communication attempts with the Cylons, shut down your computer networks, and as many of your data, communication, and information processing systems as possible. I also strongly urge you to withdraw your vessels. Let our Vipers and Battlestars handle the threat while we evac the civilians. My fleet is committed to following yours through your Jump Points and into hyperspace. The Galactica and Pegasus can act as rearguard."

"I appreciate that Admiral. But I can't comply. I know you're going to have a hard time with this. If our positions were reversed, _I'd_ have a hard time with it. But we have to _try_ to make peaceful contact with the Cylons. Meeting your Sharon Agathon and reviewing the science you shared with us made one thing very clear. These people are more human than you give them credit for. We didn't create them. We didn't enslave them. Perhaps they will respond to that. Perhaps we can broker a peace."

"Dammit, the Cylons aren't _interested_ in peace."

"That remains to be seen, Admiral."

Bill lowered the handset and cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. Turning to Dualla, he snapped, "Order Starbuck to push forward with all squadrons to screen both fleets, including the Nova and Lexington. This is gonna go south fast." Pivoting to Gaeta, he continued, "Move the Galactica and Pegasus into screening positions directly in front of the fleet. We need to provide the largest flak cover possible, which means we need to be close. Hopefully Sheridan will see reason and pull those ships back. If not, they're on their own." He paused for a moment, then added, "And make sure all Colonial ships have the emergency jump coordinates programmed in. The Cylons will be in firing range in a minute or two. Worst case, we're not going down with the Earthers." He waited only long enough to get nods of acknowledgement, then raised the handset back to his mouth. "Commodore Sheridan, are you still there?"

"We're a little busy over here, Admiral. Perhaps we could resume our conversation after this First Contact is completed?"

Bill turned bewildered eyes towards Dualla. "Confirmed," she acknowledged. "The Earthers just transmitted their first contact package. Still trying to make contact with the Cylons."

In frustration, he barked into the handset, "At least pull the Lexington and Nova back behind our screening forces. They'll at least stand a chance when the Cylons attack. In case you missed it, they're advancing in a combat formation." He glanced up at the DRADIS to confirm the Basestars' current position and heading.

Sheridan seemed unphased. "The job of those ships is to guard the fleet, and to show the strength of our forces. Both of those duties require them to be where they are. Rest assured, Admiral. My officers are prepared should the Cylons pick a fight."

Adama wanted to shout...to shake the man, to _force_ him to listen. Instead, he tried one final tack. "Your vessels aren't equipped for the kind of fight the Cylons will bring, John," he said, quietly but passionately, into the handset. "Your Starfury pilots are inexperienced at fighting Cylon Raiders. Your warships mount too few point defense cannon. Those massive cannon on the Nova...they're certainly impressive, but you yourself acknowledged they were short ranged. The Cylons will sit back at long range and pound your ships to scrap with massed missile and fighter launches."

Sheridan spoke, sounding confused. "If that was the case, then why didn't they…"

Bill stopped listening. Expression turning grim, he watched as the DRADIS display of the Basestars blossomed with a mass launch. Switching the frequency over to the Viper channel, he Barked, "Starbuck, report!"

"We're not quite into position yet, Sir. Still behind the Nova and Lexington, but moving up fast. I'm looking at a massive missile and Raider launch from every Basestar. There's gotta be hundreds….no, thousands of Raiders. A crazy number of missiles as well. Point defense isn't stopping _that_." She paused for a breath. "At least the EA vessels have launched their full fighter screen, but... _HOLY FRAK BALLS!_ "

" _Starbuck! Starbuck, come in!_ Talk to me, Kara."

"They're….gone." Her voice came back in an awed murmur.

Bill glanced up at the DRADIS display sharply. The Basestars were no longer displayed, though hordes of missiles and Raiders still littered the screens. "A launch and withdrawal? The Cylons are playing it cautious. Must be because of the Earth ships. They don't know what to expect. Our odds just went up."

"No, Sir. You don't understand. The Basestars didn't jump out. They were blown away."

"What? Kara, you're not making any sense."

"Those giant guns on the Nova. They aren't just cannons. They're some kind of energy weapon. It looked like there were two turrets….four guns, aimed at each one of the Basestars. One salvo….just one salvo and they were all reduced to…. just…. rubble. The Lexington and Starfuries are opening up now. Those guns are some kind of energy discharge as well….different than the Nova's though. _My gods...look at that accuracy_. There may not be many guns on the Lexington, Sir, but a high fraction of those shots seem to be hitting something. The Starfuries seem to be about the same. Not many of those missiles are going to get through. Maybe none at all, Sir. There's still a hell of a lot of Raiders in play though. The Nova and Lexington are starting to pull back to buy some more space. Pegasus and Galactica squadrons will be entering the fight in ten seconds."

"Roger Starbuck. Good hunting. Galactica, actual, out."

From that point, Bill was relegated to being nothing more than an observer. Reducing the Raiders took far longer than eliminating the Basestars had. But, in the end, they never even made it as far as the Galactica and Pegasus flak shells. The little damage they did to the Nova and Lexington was more or less cosmetic; and given the Earth Alliance fleet's resources and supplies, probably easily repaired. It hadn't been entirely one sided. He'd lost a few more of his precious Viper pilots, and heard that at least a couple of Starfuries had also been destroyed. At the end of the battle, Bill stood grim faced as everyone else in the CIC cheered around him. The mood was exuberant, but it tasted like ashes in his mouth.

"Admiral," Dualla called, "I have Commodore Sheridan for you."

Bill picked up the handset. "Galactica, act...this is Admiral Adama. Congratulations on your victory. It seems you were correct. Your people were certainly prepared for that fight."

"Yes," came Sheridan's response. To Bill's ears, he sounded both proud and weary. That was completely understandable. "But you were correct also. The Cylons weren't interested in peace."

"I understand why you felt you needed to try," Bill conceded. "But now I need you to understand that I may have been right about something else."

"Alright, I'm listening."

"I need you to take the Nova, and preferably the Lexington as well, and move them outside of weapons range of the fleet. Either fleet."

"Alright, Admiral," came the surprised response. "You definitely have my attention."

"John, you opened yourselves up to communication from the Cylons. Your ships _run_ on computers and networks. I don't doubt that you have computer network security specialist who are great at their jobs. I don't doubt that you have rock solid firewalls protecting everything vital. So did we. It didn't matter. The Cylons still went through our firewalls and past our specialists like they weren't even there. During the fall, they just _shut down_ our entire military. The Cylons aren't computer specialists, Commodore. They're _computers_.

"In order to stop them, we've stripped out every network possible. We use computers your people think are jokes. Recently, in combat against the Cylons, we were forced to briefly establish a small computer network on the Galactica. We put up five concentric firewalls. The Cylons went through all of them in less than a minute. We thought we had disconnected in time...only to have a Cylon virus nearly take control of the Galactica and kill us all.

"Tell me Commodore, now that I've seen the impressive firepower of your Dreadnought...if those guns just started targeting and firing on their own...how long would it take the Nova to wipe out your entire fleet? Or mine?" Around him, the celebration in the CIC went silent as people picked up on the conversation. "How many shots to destroy one of your White Star liners? And what would you do if the Nova just decided to vent its own atmosphere? Commodore, you need to quarantine the networks and computers on those ships, and move them to a safe distance until you've had a chance to completely purge your systems back to defaults."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Sheridan replied, his voice still light, but now deadly serious. "Alright Admiral. That seems like a sensible precaution. I've got several others I can think of that we will implement immediately. The Nova and Lexington will get underway shortly. Is that satisfactory?"

"Completely, Commodore."

"Good." Some levity entered his voice. "Now, we've got a lot to do, but I do have one question I'm hoping you can answer before I sign off."

"I'll endeavor to answer it."

"I'm just curious. If the Cylons' basic strategy is to stand off at a distance and hammer a vessel with long range missile fire...why did they jump in at point blank range?

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Cylon Fleet, Basestar - July, 2249**

Things were about to go from bad to worse. Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol and the most powerful Colonial human alive, with the possible exception of the invariably frustrating William Adama, felt powerless to stop it. She watched the Cylon activities with no little trepidation. She was not afraid for herself. She had already lived more life than she was supposed to. But the people under her care, all those persons who had been aboard Colonial One, for them she was terrified.

When they had first been herded up and taken aboard this monstrosity of a vessel, the Cylons had been...almost pleasant. Condescending, self superior, and demeaning to be certain...but not overtly hostile. Even the Model One named Cavil, whom she'd recently had put out an airlock, hadn't gone farther than a few insults. They all had been far more interested in hearing the reports of the Model Six named Gina Inviere, about the humans from Earth. And then they had somehow learned that the infant named Hera was a half Cylon….a fact which had shocked her own people, almost none of whom had been aware. In fact, in the excitement of the past few days, the Cylons had almost seemed to forget about their Colonial prisoners.

They had been given their own small section of the Basestar, and allowed to roam freely. The perimeter of their zone was demarcated by posted Centurions. Those did nothing but stand there unless someone tried to bypass them. And if someone wandered to close and those claws and guns came out….it was fine, so long as the individual backed off immediately. So far, there had been no significant incidents.

But something had changed. Over the past few hours, a tension had fallen over the Cylons. She hated to anthropomorphize Cylons, but about half of the models seemed visibly upset about something. The other half appeared to be angry, enraged, or even coldly furious. She had little doubt that these emotions would soon be taken out on her people.

And she was correct. The marching metal footed cadence of a Centurion tread echoed through the halls, grabbing everyone's attention long before the party came into view. Twelve Centurions, lead by a single One. Perhaps Cavil himself.

He was smiling, appearing to be in a brighter mood than at any time since they had come aboard. "Ah friends. We need to have a chat. Discuss the future. Oh, so many things to discuss. Who wants to go first? How about the President?"

Captain Eversun, the always helpful, ever supportive chief pilot of Colonial One, came to her defense. "Now just a moment," he said, stepping in front of her.

He didn't get a chance to say more. In less than a second the nearest Centurion unfolded those terrible, razor sharp claws, and slashed them through the Captain's face and chest. A horrible spray of bright red arterial blood splashed across Roslin and half a dozen others. Some ran into Laura's eyes, burning there, giving her an excuse for the tears that welled up. The poor man was dead before his body hit the floor.

Cavil's smile never so much as flickered. "Hmmm. Guess we won't be asking _him_ any questions. Now, Madame President...shall we?"

Without a word, Laura stepped forward and followed the man out of the room.

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Refugee Fleet, Battlestar Galactica - July, 2249**

Bill Adama always enjoyed coming down to pilot country. It made him feel younger. It made him feel like Husker again. But he wasn't here on a sightseeing trip, or even to let the crew know that the Old Man was always around. No, he needed to speak with his CAG...unofficially.

He found her in the Pilot's Mess. She was sharing a meal with the Resistance Leader and Pyramid Ball player she had rescued from Caprica...Anders. The meal seemed rather...intimate. He felt like a heel interrupting, but this was important, and his time was limited. He walked up to the table.

Starbuck noticed him first. "Admiral," she said in surprise, rising. Anders followed suit. Kara had clearly been drinking, though she wasn't too far gone yet.

"As you were. Mr. Anders, my apologies, but I need to borrow my CAG. It'll just be a minute."

"Of course," Anders said, not terribly graciously. But then, he had clearly been drinking as well, and knowing Kara, he was probably a lot further gone than she was.

He led Starbuck out of the room, to walk down a deserted stretch of hall beyond. "What's on your mind, Admiral?" she asked brightly.

"I'm a little troubled by things we've been learning about the Earth Alliance. It seems some of our initial assumptions about them may have been misplaced."

"Such as?" she asked with concern. "Are you thinking they might be hostile? Or even Cylons?"

"Nothing like that. But we all assumed this telepathy some of their people have was a bunch of superstitious nonsense. It hasn't been proven definitively yet, at least to me, but the evidence that it's true is starting to look pretty convincing. That alone could have significant repercussions for our relationship with these people. And then there's their level of technology. All of our initial assumptions were that they were centuries behind us technologically. That only our regression due to the Cylon threat had us anywhere close. And then the Cylon attack happened, and we saw them using energy weapons with the power of nukes."

"That was a hell of a sight," she agreed. Adama had gone over her gun camera footage to witness the event, but clearly seeing it person had even more of an effect. It took a lot to awe Kara Thrace.

"Then there's the range of those big guns. Unless I misunderstood the Commodore, their range isn't rated in tens of kilometers….it's rated in tens of _thousands_ of kilometers. And that point defense targeting capability of theirs… it's every bit as ground shaking. Clearly we underestimated their technological advancement."

"I'll say."

He glanced over at her sharply. "That sounds like you've had additional experiences Starbuck. You have something to add?"

"Well, just one, Sir. It was really odd, and I didn't know how to put it into a report, so I was planning to come and see you soon anyway."

"Explain."

"I had Russki work up some patrol routes for the CAP. But when I reviewed them, the numbers were all wrong, and I mean way off. The routes went further out than should be possible, and the timeframes were way too short. So I had her check them again, and she came up with the same figures. She's _really_ smart, so I knew it wasn't just a stupid mistake. I had her go over the math with me." Starbuck paused for several seconds as they continued to walk. "She was factoring in Inertial Dampening."

That got Bill's full and instant attention. "Say that again."

"Inertial dampening, Admiral. A roughly 90% reduction in inertia, which means when their pilots pull 6 Gs...they're really pulling 60. I asked her more about the system. Apparently their warships have it along all axes. The Starfuries, however, only get it along their main axis of thrust, so it's generally unusable in combat. However, for ferrying and patrols...it makes a hell of a difference.

"I had to tell her to redo to routes without inertial dampening, because we didn't have it. She seemed... pretty stunned. Apparently, going off of the other species they've met, they considered inertial control to be nothing more than a precursor to gravity control. The fact that we have the latter and not the former...well, she couldn't make sense of that at all."

He stopped and turned about, taking her back towards her dinner date. "Which means she's probably reported it in."

"Probably."

They walked in silence for the next minute, while Bill considered the ramifications. "Ok, Kara, I have a job for you."

"Sir?"

"Once Russki submits the corrected patrol routes, have her lead one of them. But make sure you stay on the ship."

"Ok...why?"

"You said Russki was a student, correct?"

"Yeah. She claims to be both a serving officer and a cadet at the same time. She's certainly young enough. And she keeps a stack of textbooks in her footlocker. She's always working in them whenever she has a spare moment. Honestly, it's kind of a drag. Makes me feel bad about drinking in front of her."

"Kara," he said warningly.

"Sorry, Admiral, but if I don't feel right drinking in front of her, you can imagine what it's like trying to spend any time with Anders with her hanging…"

"Starbuck!" he snapped. "Focus."

"Sorry, Sir. You had a job for me?"

"When Russki's out on that patrol...I want you to pull her textbooks, and image every page. You can requisition a camera from the Marines."

She seemed surprised. "Aren't we trying to build up trust with the Earthers, Sir? It seems like this might jeopardize that trust."

"We're just doing a little investigation. She'll probably never know."

"But she's a telepath."

"And apparently she stays out of peoples' heads. She only picks up on 'leaked' thoughts. Do you remember your SERE training?"

"Yes, Sir. The best way to hold onto information when you are being tortured is to keep it out of your thoughts."

"Practice that skill. If I understand how this telepathy thing works from the information the Earthers gave us….she'll probably even appreciate the effort."

"Yes, Admiral."

He stopped, just outside the door to the Pilot's Mess. As he had promised Anders, they hadn't been gone long. "This isn't meant as a hostile act, Starbuck. But we do need to know more about their technology and capabilities. I trust those textbooks to have that information more than I do the newspaper files the EA handed to us. If anything, this may help us to better build this relationship."

She just nodded, clearly not convinced. But she was still Kara. "I'll get it done, Sir."

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Cylon Fleet, Basestar - August, 2249**

How long had it been. Days? Weeks? Things had been far from perfect, but she had been close to the power elites. And then, capture by the Cylons. And so she found herself here. With this man. Grunting out his lusts beneath her.

"Yes. Yes. Come on. Don't stop. Come on. Come on. You son of a bitch. _Son of a bitch_." Ellen Tigh, reduced to this. He spasmed and shouted beneath her, then broke into gales of laughter. Finished with the task at hand, she rose from him, fighting back the shame. She would do what was necessary. Necessary to survive. As she always did. Necessary to protect her family. _As she always did._

She began to dress as he continued to chuckle. This man. This Cylon. _Cavil. Bastard._ "I must admit, I quite enjoyed that."

"I'm so glad. And...when do I get what I want?"

"I believe that's happening right now." Having dressed himself, he motioned for her to follow him, then led her on a long and winding route through the Basestar. These ships were every bit as large and confusing as the Galactica. Perhaps more so. He left her at a junction that looked no different than a thousand other, but was, he claimed, at the edge of the detention and interrogation facilities.

She stood there, alone, for what felt like hours. Probably was hours. Alone, except for the watchful gaze of a Centurion. Not daring to move, but still nervously fixing her hair and straightening her clothes. Over and over. She used the inane activity to continue to tamp down the regret. The shame. She would do it all again, if necessary. As many times as necessary. Only two things mattered. Survival, and getting him back.

As if summoned by her thoughts, he appeared around a corner. Hobbled, really, his clothes nearly as battered and torn as he was. And... _gods, his eye…_ "Saul," she shouted, running to him. "Oh gods, what did they _do_ to you?"

He embraced her tightly. "It's alright. I'm out. That's all that matters. Let's get out of here." The nearby Centurion straightened, then began to walk down one of the identical corridors. Silently, they followed. Going back to where the others waited. They'd still be captives. But at least they weren't torturing Saul anymore. He had made it out. Quite a few others had not. Too many. And it would only be a matter of time before the Cylon eye fell once more on Ellen and Saul Tigh.

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Exodus Fleet, Dreadnought Nova - August, 2249**

Lee Adama and his father floated, weightless through the corridors of the Earth Alliance warship Nova. It was good practice, Lee reflected. He wasn't getting to spend nearly enough time in a Viper cockpit, and any maneuvering in zero G helped, even if it was only in his Commander's uniform, rather than with a hot rod fighter wrapped around him.

His father wasn't doing quite as well in the environment. He was _really_ rusty, but Lee could see his sea legs coming back. And Commodore Sheridan, who had welcomed them aboard and was giving them the tour, was taking it easy. Still Lee felt relieved when they reached the Bridge, and the Admiral was able to step down into the gravity of plates ripped out of one of the Pegasus's auxiliary cargo holds.

"Admiral on the Bridge!" the Marine at the hatch barked. The entire Bridge crew rose to their feet and snapped to attention.

Captain Sinclair, who had been seated in some sort of silly Command Chair, turned and strode across the bridge to stand before the Admiral, then fired off a salute. Once it had been returned, Sinclair extended his hand. "Welcome to the Nova Admiral."

Lee's father shook the Captain's hand. "Glad to be here. You run a tight ship. Most impressive. Your crew as well."

"Having gravity in key areas like the Bridge has done wonders for the crew. It took a while for people to get used to it. We even had some torn muscles and ligaments and a couple of bone fractures from crew who had atrophied too far. But we're past the worst of it. We owe you a lot." Turning to Lee, he again held out his hand, "Commander Adama. Good to finally meet you. Or should I call you Apollo?"

"Apollo's fine. And I hear I should refer to you as God?"

"Not my call sign," he replied with a smile. Lee found himself liking the man "It's just what my flight trainees call me. Captain Sinclair if we're being formal. Jeff if we're not."

Lee nodded, but before he could respond further, his father cut him. "Captain Sinclair, Commodore Sheridan, I hate to impose further, but I was hoping we could go somewhere to speak privately."

"Of course," Jeff replied. "The Captain's quarters are just aft of the bridge. It's often used for meetings, so we decided to spare some grav plate for it as well. If you'll follow me?" It took less than half a minute for them to leave the bridge and cross to Sinclair's quarters. As it turned out, he had been planning to bring them here anyway, as there were drinks and a light snack laid out on the table. Jeff indicated that they should each grab seats around the table. Once seated, he simply asked, "What would you like to discuss, Admiral?"

"The hunt for Colonial One."

"And how has that been going?" Sheridan asked.

"Not worth a damn. Sending out a few Raptors at a time, so as to 'ensure the continued security of the fleet'...just isn't covering enough territory."

"And you're sure she survived the nuke?"

"I've shared the reports with you. No traces of debris found. That's just impossible, unless she wasn't there. And by now, even if damaged, they should have found their way back."

"Unless they were destroyed by the affects of the nuke they absorbed before they jumped," Sinclair noted, "or landed inside of a star or planet. I understand blind jumps can do that."

The Admiral paused, then gave a sharp nod of affirmation. "I don't find that to be the likely case. Numerically, jumping into a stellar body is somewhat unlikely. No, the most credible reason for their continued absence is that they are being prevented from returning. They've been captured by the Cylons. It's certainly the most likely explanation."

"But not the only one," Sinclair pressed again.

"No. But running off of that assumption...an educated assumption...our course is clear. We need to rescue our people. And a few Raptors just aren't going to cut it." Lee's eyes widened, though he remained silent. His father hadn't discussed _this_ with him.

"I assume you have discussed this with President Zarek?" the Captain asked.

"Yes. _Acting_ President Zarek reiterated his order that we only use minimal forces in any search and rescue attempts, so as not to endanger the fleet. However, I don't consider it within the acting President's authority to order me not to rescue the actual President. There's a clear conflict of interest.

"Well, since you brought up conflicts of interest...," Sinclair began, but Sheridan held up his hand and gave a minute shake of his head. Captain Sinclair cut short his response, which Lee very much appreciated. No doubt it would be a comment on the clearly growing personal relationship between William Adama and Laura Roslin. Instead, Jeff frowned for a moment, then asked, "So what you are saying is that you see _Acting_ President Zarek as the legitimate authority of your fleet...just not in military disposition, particularly in regards to rescuing President Roslin." Receiving a nod from the Admiral, he commented, "that's an awfully slippery slope you're walking."

"It is," the Admiral agreed, ignoring the byplay and simply answering the question. "I've walked plenty of others."

"So what exactly are you saying?"

"It is my intention to take the Galactica, locate a Cylon vessel, and covertly track that vessel back the Cylon fleet….where presumably Colonial One and her passengers are being held. We will then enact a rescue."

" _What!?_ " Lee asked in shock. This certainly _shouldn't_ have been the first he was hearing about this. His father should have discussed it with him before bringing it to outsiders.

"Sorry to spring this on you, son, but this wasn't a conversation that could be had just anywhere. And you needed to be a part of it."

"What do you need from us?" Sheridan asked, taking over the Earth Force side of the conversation from Sinclair. "Munitions? We can't help with your Battlestar weaponry. But I know you've got shortages for your fighters. We've been working on some adapters to allow our Starfury munitions to mount on a Viper or Raptor. Hotdog tells us there's something of a range advantage over your own small ship missiles."

"That would be appreciated, Commodore, but it's not why I asked for this meeting." When neither Sheridan nor Sinclair chose to respond, he continued. "Given the continued presence of your fleet, and the firepower displayed by this ship...I think it's safe to say that the temporary absence of the Galactica will not materially diminish the security of the fleet. So you see...I'm not _literally_ ignoring Zarek's order...though I doubt he will see it that way. Which is why I need you." he paused for a long moment, considering his words. "It is my intention to break off task force Pegasus and detach them temporarily to your command, Commodore Sheridan. I have to go back several decades, prior to unification under the Articles of Colonization, and draw from Caprican military law. Under those laws, a member of the Admiralty can, at need, detach forces under his command to an allied command, where they will serve as part of the allied nation's military structure until such time as that Admiral, or his replacement, recalls them, or they are released by the allied command. There's nothing saying I can't do this in Colonial military law, because once the Colonies were united, there was no one to loan forces to. Which means Zarek won't be able to do anything about it. He won't be able to legally withdraw those forces...or, at the very least, it would require a lengthy and intricate litigation effort. He can fire me, but not until I return, since I intend to be gone before he realizes what has happened. And, of course, it is my hope that upon my arrival, he will no longer have the authority to do so, President Roslin being back in her role. And if we fail...if I return without the President..then I'll be deserving of whatever discipline he chooses to enact."

"Dad...," Lee began, but his father interrupted.

"I'm sorry Lee, but I can't put you in charge of the fleet. You've been doing a great job on the Pegasus, but you don't have the experience to lead the entire fleet. Nor am I certain that you would stand up to acting President Zarek, if he starts giving orders."

"No, I'm with you. I don't want that responsibility. But...I have a request." Lee waited for his father's nod, then continued. "Take the Pegasus. If you're really going to try to rip them out of the arms of an entire Cylon fleet….you're going to need the extra combat ability. The Galactica's a fine ship, but she's not up to the job."

The Admiral bristled at the slight to his ship but, after taking a deep breath and thinking for a moment, nodded again. "Alright. Take care of my ship." Turning to face Sheridan directly, he said, "Of course, this all depends on whether or not the Commodore will accept the detachment of the Galactica."

Sheridan glowered. "You realize, of course, that you are putting me in a very tenuous position. Should your mission fail, you would be simultaneously negating all of the time we have put into establishing a working relationship with you, Admiral, while also creating bad blood between us and President Zarek, and probably whoever your replacement ends up being as well. I don't see the President putting Commander Adama in charge. Not after this little stunt." He took a deep breath. "There's an old saying from Earth. 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' Maybe you had something similar." He stood up and extended his hand to the Admiral. "I'm in, Sir. Good luck and good hunting to you. When do you intend to depart?"

"The sooner the better. I don't want this leaking out. Within the next couple of hours, ideally."

"Admiral," Lee cut in, "could you give me four? There is a personnel disposition I need to deal with. His father gave him a curious glance, but simply nodded.

.

.

And so it was that, a couple of hours later, Commander Lee Adama found himself striding through the halls of the Galactica, down in the family residential quarters. Once he had located the correct room, he rapped twice on the hatch. However, when no response came, he simply walked through.

He immediately noted the recumbent form on the room's sole bunk, completely ensconced under the blankets. "Get up. You have a mission."

"Frak you," came the muffled voice. "Get out."

"Better pack fast," he continued. "Your transport departs in fifteen minutes."

"Transport?" There was a thrashing in the bunk, until finally a feminine arm pierced the blankets and peeled them away from a bleary eyed face. "Commander Adama. In case you forgot, I'm a prisoner here. I may no longer be locked in a cell, but if I try to go on any 'mission,' the Marines on the other side of that hatch are going to be less than amused."

"I've already reassigned the Marines," he said, "and officially reinstated you as a member of the crew."

"That's hardly your call to make, _Commander_ , and I doubt _Daddy_ would approve."

"It becomes my call when I officially take command of this Battlestar, which happens in…" he glanced at his watch, "just over thirty minutes. We're just getting this meeting out of the way a little early."

"Besides, why would I want to be part of this crew. The Admiral had me thrown in the brig... _again_. The only reason I was released was the Earth Force Commodore."

"You hurt him."

"For the last time, that wasn't me. That was Boomer. I'm Sharon. A completely different person. This shouldn't be that hard. It's not like you people don't have twins or triplets or even more on occasion."

"It's not. We'll figure it out. But you know that's not what I meant. Your betrayal hurt him. He took a major chance on you. A great many people told him not to trust a Cylon…"

"I _earned_ that trust," she snapped.

"And what did you do with it?" he barked back. "The very first mission, the _very first_ , you allowed a Cylon to sneak aboard this vessel. That's what hurt him. But he would have forgiven you, given time. We just don't have the time anymore."

She glared at him and hissed, "He stole my baby, and lied about her death. And then dangled hope of a reunion in front of my nose just to tell me once again that she had died in a nuclear blast. I have no interest in your mission. I have no interest in helping that man. Just leave and let me die in peace."

She started to bury her face in the blankets again, so he plowed on. "We think Hera's alive." That got her immediate and undivided attention. "There was no wreckage from Colonial One in the blast. We think a Cylon agent may have hijacked the vessel. That or they managed an emergency jump out and somehow ended up in Cylon hands. He's taking the Pegasus to rescue them."

She looked stunned. "So he...lied to me. Again. He lied about my baby being dead...again."

"We didn't know. It took some time to put together the facts. And then we didn't want to get your hopes up, only to smash them again. Think what you want about us, but we're not _cruel_. This is your chance to get Hera back."

"He's not going for Hera," she spat. "He's going for _her_."

Lee had no need to ask who she meant. "He's going for _all_ of our people...and that includes Hera. And the odds are against him. He _needs_ you. You want your daughter back? You want your _family_ back? You want Hera to grow up with her mother and father, rather than surrounded by Cylons who can't possibly love her the way the two of you do? This is you chance to make it happen."

She hesitated. "So...why did he send you instead of coming himself?"

Now it was Lee's turn to hesitate. _What now?_ That was obvious. There was really only one viable option. _Tell the truth._ "He doesn't know I'm here. It didn't occur to him to bring you in."

"Oh, it _occurred_ to him. And he clearly rejected the idea. He doesn't want my help. If I try to force it, he'll just have me thrown back in the brig. No thank you."

"Like I said, you hurt him. But he's far too practical to turn down the help. He'll come around. Especially if he doesn't know you're there until after the Pegasus departs."

"The Pegasus?" she asked in confusion.

"I convinced him to take the Pegasus. I figured he could use the added firepower. That's why I'm taking command of the Galactica. Now quit stalling, your transport leaves in ten minutes." She leapt out of the bunk and rapidly began to dress. It turned out she'd been mostly _un_ dressed under those blankets, and he spun rapidly to face the wall.

However, he heard her pause in her movements. "What about Helo?"

"He's on duty. I'll inform him of what's happening after he comes off shift."

"When it's too late for him to object, or insist he come along."

"You're godsdamned right."

She once more began to dress and pack, but then paused again. "I can't...I can't lose my baby again. I can't be told that she's dead again. It will kill me."

He didn't hesitate. "Bring our people home, Sharon, and I will personally ensure that never happens."

"Not even if your Admiral or your President demands it?"

"Not even if the _gods_ demand it. You bring our people home, and I will go to the _wall_ for you."

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Cylon Fleet, Basestar - August, 2249**

When the council of Cylon models gathered, it was rarely an overly formal affair. However, today the atmosphere felt a good deal more serious. And Cavil, as always, was just a bit grumpy. "Well? We're all here. What was so urgent that we couldn't wait for the next scheduled meeting?"

D'Anna was unimpressed by his irritation. There was very little that Cavil said or did that impressed her. "Adama is searching for Colonial One."

"Yes. We all knew that. Are we done here?"

"And did you know that he is now committing the Pegasus, and specifically hunting for us?"

"He couldn't possibly know we have Colonial One."

"Perhaps not...but he suspects, and that's enough."

Cavil glared at her suspiciously. "How exactly do you know this."

She scoffed. "How do we know anything that happens on that fleet? Spies. One of our sisters embedded in the fleet managed to get off a report."

His eyes narrowed. "And why didn't I hear about that?" He swept his glare around the table, at all of the other Cylons sitting silently there. Some of them seemed to wither under that gaze. Others just looked back unconcernedly.

"You're hearing about it now," D'Anna responded. "The moment it came in, I knew it was important enough to be brought...to everyone."

Cavil raised his hand and flicked his wrist, as though shoeing the matter away. "Fine, fine. It's hardly a matter of concern. In fact...this could work out very well for us."

"Adama is coming after us with the humans' most powerful ship, and you think it's hardly a matter of concern?" Caprica broke in.

"But it's not their most powerful ship, is it?" he responded grimly. "Not anymore. Not since the people claiming to be the 13th Colony arrived. They're not, by the way."

"So you've told us," Boomer cut in, "but how do you know?"

"I just do. Maybe God told me."

"Don't blaspheme," Aaron Doral advised. "So if they're not the 13th Tribe, who are they and where did they come from?"

"I don't know. Not yet. But we'll find out."

"We're getting distracted from the main issue," D'Anna snapped. "Adama is coming. And he's going to try to take back the Colonials...and Hera."

"And, as I said," Cavil replied, a predatory smile on his face, "it's not a problem. We won't let him take _anyone_. Since that disaster of an attack against the human fleets, we've been forced to keep our ships in large task forces, in case we should have to fight them again. That alone threatens to allow the humans to escape. We don't have enough ships to maintain a proper search if we have to keep them in groups of ten or twelve. But now, if Adama is coming after us….well, there's not much he can do besides die spectacularly. This fleet will crush the Pegasus like a bug. In fact...we'd better send some ships away, so we don't scare him off. Keep just enough to ensure there is no possibility of loss, but few enough that, given his clear desperation, he'll still be willing to try an attack.

"Honestly, this is a gift. Not only does this weaken their overall fleet, and remove a thorn from our side….but it also locks the rest of them in place. Their fleets can't move on, or Adama wouldn't be able to return to them once his mission is completed. Which neatly solves our tracking problem. And with Adama and the Pegasus gone...we'll have a much better chance at taking out that new fleet. They won't have the experience to counter our tactics. You worry too much D'Anna. This is wonderful news."

"Celebrate all you want. But even if you don't want to admit it, there's still a danger here. Those people are some of the highest ranking Colonials in their fleet. They hold it together. We can't afford to give them back. And there is no way I am letting Hera go. She's too important to our people. She's our future." The birth of Hera had been celebrated by the Cylons as a path to the future. And her death had been taken hard. It had been D'Anna who had noticed the baby on board the Colonial One, and demanded to be allowed to hold her...more out of curiosity than anything else. Babies weren't a part of being Cylon. And she had gotten a feeling...a certainty really. She'd immediately insisted on testing the child, and been awed to discover that the child was actually half Cylon...Hera. That possible future was not closed off to them. It lived and breathed in the tiny infant.

"Yes...how is your little side project going."

D'Anna scowled at him again, but replied, "We still have no idea how she was conceived."

"Oh...do we need to talk about the Birds and the Bees? I thought we covered that already."

"This isn't funny," she snapped. "If we can't learn how to reproduce…"

"Then we'll just keep producing our current models," he interrupted. "And we'll improve them the old fashioned way...engineering and design iteration."

"Hera could also be the key to the humans' survival. I won't give her up, and I won't take chances. They're _not_ getting her back."

"You did just hear me say we were going to draw in and then destroy the Pegasus, right? I'm not just talking to myself here."

"We need insurance," she demanded flatly.

Cavil paused, looking at her curiously. It was Boomer who asked, "What did you have in mind?"

"I want to install one of our bombardment nukes in the heart of our main reactor. If it looks like Adama might actually succeed in taking Hera and our other guests...we blow up the ship...along with anything even remotely close."

"You do know that if you blow up Hera, you don't get to keep her, right?" Cavil asked in a rather sarcastic tone.

"Better than giving her to the Colonials. Imagine what the humans would do to her."

"Just making sure. It's a complete and utter waste of time. But, if it makes you feel better, fine. Install as many nukes as you like."


	25. Chapter 23 - Back Again

**Chapter 23 - Back Again**

 **.**

 **Somewhere near the Cylon Fleet, Battlestar Pegasus - August, 2249**

Admiral Adama hadn't thrown her into the brig. Instead, he'd put her in a uniform. Sharon Valerii wasn't certain how, but the simple fabric felt far more imprisoning than the cell would have. She stood, in a ramrod straight attention stance, at the Admiral's shoulder in the CIC. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to her, instead considering the DRADIS display and the plotting table, loaded down with 3D representations...models, really...of the Pegasus and all of the Raptors they had out searching. And nothing else.

It was that nothing else which had been increasing the Admiral's irritation by the hour. Sharon had a feeling that the brig still might be in her future. Finally, Adama turned to her. His face was a mask of stoicism, but his eyes were glaring. "You said they would be here."

"And they will," she responded immediately, trying to stay calm. "They have to be. There are only so many designated gathering point systems in this region of space. We've already checked out all of the others. And there's just no way they would ever come to consensus on bringing humans back to the Colony. It's supposed to be sacred and pure. At least, that's what Cavil always told us." She paused. She really didn't want to complete the thought...but it was her duty. "If they're not here… they're not anywhere." A scowl finally breaking through his passive visage, he turned back to the plotting table. She continued in a rush. "Have faith, Sir. There are still three recon squadrons out searching." They had jumped in deep in the Kuiper Belt, not wanting to be detected and so taking a page from the Earthers' book. That had necessitated sending out Raptor recon parties on slow and stealthy search missions.

"Two," interrupted the Pegasus's XO. "Raptor Squadron 7 just checked in. Clear skies in their entire search grid. Not so much as a sensor anomaly."

The Admiral continued to stare impassively at the plotting table. Sharon steeled herself and stepped up next to him, not saying a word, but taking comfort in his presence, and the fact that he still hadn't thrown her in the brig.

And so they waited silently through yet another hour, as Sharon felt the Admiral's mood grow increasingly dark. But, as luck would have it, they wouldn't need to wait on the very last squadron to report in. "Raptor Squadron 3 checking in," the XO's voice rang out. "They've detected the enemy!"

"Were they noticed?" Adama shot back.

"No, Sir. They don't think so. They're returning to the barn. Transmitting recon photography now on tight beam." Images began to download, popping up on a nearby monitor one after another, each taking several seconds to compile. Most of them were blurry due to camera motion, or partially obstructed by planetary debris the Raptors had been hiding behind. One shot finally though came through crystal clear. It showed seven Basestars in a tight snowflake formation. Seven of them. _Seven._

"Admiral…I'm afraid there is no way we can overcome this correlation of forces," the XO noted cautiously. And completely unnecessarily.  
Adama continued to stare down at the plotting table for several long moments. Then, shockingly, with an angry shout he swept out with his arm, hurling a few of the plotting models, representing the recon squadrons, off of the plotting table and across the CIC. There was dead silence in the room as Adama bent over the table, panting heavily.

"Sir…" Sharon began hesitantly. "Admiral...please. We can't just give up."

"What would you have me do?" he asked without so much as glancing up. "Take this ship and this crew to their deaths in the forlorn hope we might actually accomplish something?"

"Sir...please. We have to try. _She's waiting for us."_ Sharon didn't specify which 'she' she meant. They were thinking of different 'shes' anyway.

Adama didn't respond, didn't say anything at all. Instead, he just turned to once again stare balefully at the images of the Cylon task force continuing to cycle across the monitor. He stood there for several minutes, just staring silently. And then his brow furrowed, and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Thoughtfully, he turned and walked over to the scattered Raptor markers, bending to pick them up off of the floor. Sharon darted over to assist him. As they gathered them up, he spoke softly, not meeting her gaze. "Tell me, did you notice anything odd about that formation?"

She hesitated a moment. Then she looked again at the monitor where another clear image of the Cylon task force was currently displayed. She squinted. "There _is_ something odd about it. None of our combat formations are anywhere near that tight. Other than that, though, it's just a standard defensive formation."

"Defensive?"

"Yes. The six perimeter vessels guard the central unit. Usually a command vessel or one given priority for some reason. Though, again, they're usually spread much further apart."

"And why would this particular ship be considered a priority?"

Sharon didn't gasp, but she did feel her chest constrict. She turned and met his gaze solidly. "Because that's where the captives are located."

"How certain are you of that?"

"Not a hundred percent. There's no way to be absolutely certain. But, it makes sense and it fits Cylon doctrine. What I can't tell you is why they've changed to such a tight formation."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and walked back over to the plotting table, beginning to replace the markers he had picked up. Sharon joined him, setting down the one she had retrieved. He spoke, "They've tightened their formation because they're afraid. Resurrection means they know exactly how the Nova shattered their other fleet. Hell, some of 'em probably frakkin' lived through it. Or died through it, I guess. That tight formation is meant to be a countermeasure. If the Nova jumps in, all of the other ships duck behind the two or three closest to the Nova, then use the corpses of those vessels as a shield against those monster guns, while they pour out missiles and raiders to try to overwhelm it. Not a bad strategy, given what little they know.

He paused. "Time to get to work, Lieutenant."

Sharon gaped at him, shocked that he would give her Boomer's old rank, in addition to having stuffed her in Boomer's old uniform. _He's not confused, is he?_ "Sir?"

"The Cylons have made a mistake, and you're going to help me take advantage of it."

"And what mistake is that?"

"They forgot about _you_."

* * *

.

 **Cylon Fleet, Command Basestar - August, 2249**

With a gasp, D'Anna Biers jerked up from her sleeping pallet. She rubbed at her eyes. She had been dreaming again. _Or was it a nightmare? I can't remember. Why can't I remember?_ It had been like this, night after night, for weeks. She knew that her dreams meant something. That they were the same, night after night. But she couldn't decide if they were joyful or terrifying. If they were about Hera or the Final Five. She snorted to herself. _Why would a Three be dreaming about the Final Five?_ But she wasn't just a Three. She was D'Anna Biers. Trained to ask questions. To uncover secrets.

At least, that's what she had known for a very long time. But _that_ was the dream. Coded memories meant to make her a better infiltrator. A fabricated history for a falsified life. _So why does that past feel more real than anything I'm doing now? More real than anything but Hera._ And now she was just distracting herself; avoiding any attempts at trying to dig up memories of those dreams. She _wanted_ to remember them...and yet they filled her with dread. Why?

Suddenly, she needed to be away from her pallet, away from the possibility of more dreams. She rose and quickly dressed, then began walking, not paying any attention to where she was going. So it was with some surprise that she realized, perhaps twenty minutes later, that she had wandered into the sections set aside for the humans. She continued to walk, unafraid. The humans had been disarmed, and she could easily handle any that tried to give her trouble. If any were that stupid, she would take a great deal of time showing them just how mistaken such impulses were. And, if they came at her in numbers, there were certainly Centurions stationed within easy shouting distance.

She was walking past another of the featureless rooms, when she stopped, turning to look again. This one was not so featureless. A cloth had been hung across the door, trinkets made from feathers and beads hanging to either side of it. She glanced around, then pushed the cloth aside and stepped inside. The room beyond was dim, with candles burning in the corners. More cloths, painted with religious symbols, hung from the ceiling.

 _Of course. The temple._ She'd heard that the humans had asked and been allowed to set up a temple. Some of the Cylons had been scandalized that such pagan rituals might be allowed upon their ship. Others thought that allowing the humans to maintain some small part of their culture might help to keep them under control. D'Anna hadn't much cared either way, but had heard that the effort had been provisionally allowed. This must be the result.

She stood in the doorway to the temple, looking around. Pushing aside a gauzy curtain, she hesitated, spotting a middle aged human woman dressed in robes sitting in the middle of the room. She wasn't quite certain what to do next.

The woman...priestess or whatever she was...spotted her. "Don't be afraid. I know who you are, what you are." D'Anna glanced behind herself in confusion. Could this human really be addressing her? For some reason, the very possibility made her nervous. She hesitated, but the human was no longer looking at her, having resumed whatever she was doing, which seemed to involve candles, powders, and some small painted stones. "Poor thing," she continued quietly. "You must be terrified." D'Anna looked around uncertainly. The woman was now licking the powder off of her hand. She glanced back up at D'Anna. "You have any candy?"

She hesitated, then smirked. "Candy? No."

The woman chuckled, still licking her hand. "Chamalla's so bitter," she explained. She shook more of the powder into her hand. "Well, Zeus sees all. Sees you, Number Three. Sees your pain. Your destiny. All the gods weep for you."

 _I should just leave this fool._ But she couldn't. For some reason, she needed to hear this. Almost against her will, she found herself walking further into the temple. Closer to the strange female. The strange human. "There is no Zeus. No other god but God."

"Well you don't believe that anymore. You don't know what you believe, and that is why you're here."

"That's not true," she replied dismissively, half turning away. "I don't even know why I'm here." She paced a few steps to the side. "It's the stupidest thing I ever did," she half muttered to herself.

"It's your dream," the woman said confidently...demandingly, "that brings _you_ to _me."_

"How do you know about that?"

The woman frowned, looking down, waving D'Anna closer. Once the Three had squatted down in front of her, she resumed. "I have a message for you. From the one you worship. He speaks from me to you. Just as He speaks in your dreams," she added almost as an afterthought. "The message is...The Fruit born of two peoples, the child named after the wife and sister of the all knowing Zeus...Hera...is the only hope for the future of the Cylon race. Only she can bring your people into the light. Can give them hope and life. But not all. Many will fall to darkness and shadow. But some, perhaps a great many, can be saved. The path will be hard, the sacrifices daunting. But the one you worship would see that portion saved. And you, Three, you must be her guardian. You must be the guardian of them all."

"That's not true. The child opens up possibilities. But there are plenty of other options open to the Cylons. She's not that special. I'm not special at all."

"You have held her in your arms, and knew for the first time what it is to feel true love. That alone makes you special, but you are so much more than that. _She_ is so much more than that. You will know true love again..many times. You will build a family, the likes of which you can not imagine. And those Cylons you bring into the light… they shall also be your family, as will the child. But you must have the courage to tear down that which you have built… to lose everything you have accomplished." D'Anna was disturbed. These were clearly the rantings of a mad woman. And yet… She felt a tear streak down her face. The priestess began licking more of the powder off of her hand, then looked up. "Wish I had some chocolate caramels."

D'Anna turned and left, without a word.

* * *

 **.**

 **Cylon Fleet - August, 2249**

The Cylon task force cruised along, comfortable in its dominance of local space. In its tight combat formation and the precautions it had taken against the new humans...those claiming to be of the 13th tribe. This was a designated rally system, and much of the overall fleet had been here when Gina had brought Colonial One to its capture, over a month ago. News of the new humans had shaken the collective to its core, and they had leapt to immediate action. Ships had been sent out, bringing the news to the Colony, the Hub, other rally systems, and to the forces remaining in the Cyrannus system. Ships had also been disbursed to search all of the nearby star systems, on the distinct possibility that there were yet more human vessels moving through this region of space. More of these alleged Earthers. The Ones insisted they were not, but most of the Cylons saw no reason to disbelieve their claims. And finally, a task force had been peeled off to disable and capture at least one of the Earther vessels. Peace and plans could wait. The arrival of these humans presented a threat to the Cylons, both literally and to their beliefs and worldview.

Of course, that doomed effort had only proven just how real the threat truly was. The hunters were being rearranged to reinforce this task force. This process was complicated by the fact that the search forces would now be required to themselves move in more concentrated numbers. But the messages had been delivered to all relevant locations, and the Basestars used to deliver them (in hindsight this was a ridiculous waste of resources, but at the time the message had been deemed important enough to warrant such security), in addition to units pulled from the Colonies, would now be available to reinforce this system as well as to bolster the forces searching for additional contact. The reinforcements could be summoned at very short notice, but for the time being were left out of they system. With the Pegasus and Adama on the hunt, they didn't want the local force to appear too powerful...to frighten the Admiral away.

They would learn to regret that decision.

In a flash of light, the Battlestar Pegasus popped into space...less than a hundred meters directly below the ventral hull of the Basestar at the center of the formation. Her big turreted cannon, having been pre-aimed, opened fire immediately, hurling an equivalent volley of death at each of the six surrounding Basestars. Curiously, her axial primary batteries did not join in the chorus, despite being pointed in vaguely the correct direction of one of the Basestars. Only a single turret swung upwards to fire at the central Basestar looming just above. The heavy pair of cannon delivered point blank fire to a _very_ specific point on the hull.

Raptors, having awaited the transition, launched almost immediately. But they weren't streaming in a row out of the launch tubes. Instead, they had been lined up along the forward edge of each of the flight pods. Lifting off as a group, they fell quickly into formation, breaking up into six separate attack flights and going immediately to full military thrust, each flight heading towards one of the surrounding Basestars. Once again an oddity was noted, as not a single Viper was launched into space.

The Cylons were caught flatfooted, but surprise doesn't last long against cybernetic foes. It was bare seconds before each of the Basestars began to fire back. Heavy antiship missiles spat out first, followed moments later by Raider launches. This included the central Basestar, whose upper pylon weapons systems could range on the Pegasus, and whose Raiders could launch directly into weapons range of the mighty Battlestar. But the Pegasus's CIWS emplacement were hot, and had also begun firing almost immediately. They ignored the missiles and Raiders inbound from the surrounding Basestars. They didn't bother to set up a protective flak shell. They had a different mission. For once, the CIWS emplacements had specific targets, and knew exactly where those targets were. They hosed down the Raider bays and missile launch tubes of the central Basestar...at least the ones they could range on. And those bays and tubes didn't get a single platform into space.

Aboard the Pegasus CIC, the XO looked from the DRADIS screen to his Admiral, doing his best to remain calm. The wall of missiles and Raiders heading for the Beast from all sides made that particularly difficult. Still, he managed to report with aplomb, "All targets have begun missile launch, Admiral."

Adama glanced over and nodded to the man. "So I see. We should respond. Launch nukes."

"Launch nukes, aye, Sir!"

The Pegasus had jumped in with her nuclear missile tubes already open, her missiles hot. Acquiring a weapons lock on the surrounding Basestars had been very nearly their first priority upon jumping in. At the Admiral's orders, six missiles launched from both the port and starboard missile tubes, a pair aimed at each of the surrounding Basestars. The heavy missiles thundered towards the Basestars. Their great acceleration rapidly overtook the charging wings of Raptors. They passed the diminutive attack vessels at very nearly the same time the return Cylon fire swept past in the other direction.

That was the signal for those Raptors to launch their own munitions. A pair of much smaller nukes burst off of the hardpoints of each of the Raptors, streaking towards their Basestar targets. The Raptors them came hard about, racing back towards the security of the Pegasus and away from the charging Wall of Raiders rapidly closing into autocannon range.

With its customary flash of light, that security winked away. But not before that lone turret, firing into the underbelly of the central Basestar, had done its job. Lieutenant Valerii had provided the exact location of the IFF beacon, which had now been destroyed. With the Pegasus having vanished, the constricting ring of Cylon missiles reoriented on the enormous target right in front of them, which was _not_ broadcasting a friendly IFF signal. In a thunderous wave, dozens of missiles impacted on the central Basestar. The Raptors followed them in closely, splitting up and each picking one of the dozens of new massive craters boring through the hull of the Cylon vessel. They dove inside at reckless speed, just as the nukes from the Raptors and the Pegasus struck home against the surrounding ring of Basestars. Only Raptors 7 and 13 failed to enter a breach in time. One moment space was filled with a flurry of pursuing Cylon ships, missiles, and fighters...the next it was the inside of a brilliant new star. A storm of radiant energy and radioactive particles boiled across space. When that storm cleared, all that remained was a ring of broken and expanding rubble, and the scorched and pitted Basestar at the center of it all, floating dead in space.

* * *

.

 **Command Basestar - August, 2249**

With a shriek, D'Anna Biers was hurled out of her sleeping pallet and bounced off the wall. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to remove the crust of sleep from them and get them open. With a start, she realized they _were_ already open. The room was pitch black. Had someone shut out the lights? She had been dreaming again. Or was she dreaming still? She tried to stand up, only to realize that no part of her was touching the floor. Was something wrong with the gravity? Was there no floor? _This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare._ "Hello?" she called out. There was no answer.

And then, with a crackle, both light and gravity reasserted themselves, and she crashed to the floor. Thankfully, for both her eyes and her posterior, neither was at normal intensity. In fact, the light was clearly the blood red of the backup emergency systems. The ship continued to groan around her.

 _It has to be the humans. They're attacking the ship._ It was clearly a foolish and desperate act; one which would get them killed, as they so rightly deserved. Probably the captives as well. She was uncertain what to do. Try to lend a hand, or stay put and wait for the all clear.  
And then a single thought struck like thunder. _Hera. They've come for Hera._ She bolted to her feet, still uncertain what to do. Her next thought sent a river of ice coursing down her veins. _The nukes. If the humans have a chance of being successful, Cavil will set off the nukes._ Hera would be killed. That had seemed like the logical course when she had suggested the contingency not so long ago. Now the very idea filled her with dread.

Her subconscious formed a plan of action without bothering to inform the rest of her mind, and she found herself bolting from the room.

* * *

.

Laura Roslin stumbled and fell over. She would certainly have hit the floor, if Tigh hadn't caught her. Tigh, with his poor, lonely eye. She couldn't bring herself to look at the eyepatch across from it. For that matter, she was having a hard time seeing at all. The room had grown so dim. "I'm sorry Colonel. It's the Chamalla. Sometimes the effects are nearly debilitating." A month without medical care...the Cylons certainly didn't care to maintain her health...and she had felt a growing sense of illness; what she felt certain was her cancer coming on strong. With neither doctors nor medicine available, she had turned to the one resource at hand. It had turned out that the clergy present for her swearing in ceremony had been travelling with a small cache of Chamalla. Enough for Roslin to resume the drug anyway. It seemed to help, but only a little, and the side effects were often embarrassing.

"Like hell," he snorted. "That was a kinetic impact. Can't you tell we're under emergency lighting? And unless I'm mistaken, the grav plates aren't operating properly."

 _What?_ Her eyesight sharpened, and she glanced rapidly around the room, pulling herself out of Saul's grasp. _Well, if Bill can call him Saul, why can't I?_ she thought dazedly. _Focus!_ "Colonel, it's Bill. It's got to be. They're attempting a rescue."

"Which means the frakkin' toasters are likely as not to just start shootin' us all any minute."

"Then we need to be ready. Prepared to move or defend ourselves as best we can. Get everyone gathered up, along with the weapons we've been able to conceal." A few shivs and heavy tools weren't going to do squat to a Centurion...but the skinjobs were another matter altogether. And, one way or another, everything was likely to be decided within the next few hours. She'd rather spend those hours struggling for survival than laying down and waiting for death or rescue.

Saul seemed to agree with her, as he rose and bolted out of the room.

* * *

.

Under the blood red emergency lights, one more flashing warning light might very well have gone unnoticed...had there been anyone alive nearby to notice it. Instead the warning light, and then the roar of escaping atmosphere as the hatch opened, it's protocols overridden, fell only on the unresponsive auditory and visual sensors of a pair of dead Centurions, and the eyes and ears of a single dead Model Five. Neither did those deceased beings take note of the squad of vacuum suited and heavily armed figures which charged through, weapons at the ready, walking right over the top of the dead Cylons. Finally, one of them closed the hatch, sealing in the remaining atmosphere, and silencing the room.

Checking the panel from which the warning light had been blinking, Sharon Valerii reached up and popped the seals on her helmet. Then pulled it off altogether. "Pop seals, Marines. The air's good in here, and you'll want to save your air supply for emergencies." She then followed up by beginning to strip out of her vac suit, while the Marines spread out to secure the corridor.

The Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the squad, Iglesia, if she recalled correctly, had pulled out and unfolded a large map, studying it intently. He paid no mind to the half naked woman changing outfits just a meter away from him...though several of the other Marines cast appreciative glances her way. Sharon didn't bother to look at the map. She had drawn it. "This is going to be a cluster frak, ma'am. Our forces, those that survived, are spread out all over the ship. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and have no idea where the hostages are...assuming they're all together...or even on the ship at all."

Sharon still couldn't believe that she had been put in charge of this mission. But, she had, and she would need to deal with such pessimism from her troops. "Yes, Gunnery Sergeant, I am aware of the difficulties." He didn't appear the least bit contrite, so she finished adjusting her top and continued. "That's where I come in."

"All due respect ma'am….that plan's frakked. You follow it, you're dead."

"Look, you're right, Gunny. We're split up all over the ship, outnumbered, outgunned. You go toe to toe with the Centurions on this crate, and they'll cut you to pieces. That makes this a recon and scouting force, not a combat force. You figure out where you are. You use the map to find nearby priority search points. And you recon them. But most of all, you avoid notice. You do _not_ get into a fight. We brought plenty of demo. You get spotted, you get into a firefight, then you fall back and blow the corridor. Break contact and evade. Then get back to the search, but stay close to the Raptor. That's your primary point of exfiltration."

"Yes, _Lieutenant,"_ he responded, putting more than a little scorn into the rank. "I was at the briefing. But this ship is enormous, and we only had so many Raptors to land forces. And we've certainly lost at least a few teams. It would take a miracle for us to locate the hostages. Again, assuming they are even on this boat."

"And as I said Gunny, that's where I come in. While you are leading your squad on it's recon, I'll be heading for the central control hub of this ship. Why do you think I'm in this ridiculous getup? It's the closest thing I could assemble to what Eights would be wearing walking around this ship. As long as I act like everything is normal, they'll never even notice me."

"Closest? So it's not a perfect match?"

"No. But my other option was to go running around completely naked...and I'm not doing _that_ in front of a bunch of jarheads."

A voice floated back from a small ways down the corridor. "Don't mind us. You do what'cha gotta. Better safe than sorry, that's my motto."

"Private Tucker," Gunny barked, "stuff it!" He turned mildly mollified eyes back to the toaster who was ostensibly his commanding officer. "Sorry."

"Well, I did call you all jarheads, so lets call it even." She paused gathering up her previous train of thought. "Once I get to the Control Hub, I'll find a data interface and use it to locate the prisoners and see what our best exfiltration option is. Hopefully Colonial One will be accessible. If not, we may have to hijack some Heavy Raiders. Taking the civilians out via our Raptors is the last choice, because it would mean splitting up the civies and hauling them all over the ship….and it would also mean leaving a hell of a lot of people behind. But it's available if there's no other choice."

Iglesia nodded. "If it comes to that, ma'am, the Marines will stay behind."

"I know you will, Gunny. I'll make sure it _doesn't_ come to that. I'm planning to hitch a ride with you when we get the hell out of here."  
He nodded in approval and appreciation. "And how will we know you from any other…"

"Eight?"

"Yes, ma'am. The boys are liable to be a little twitchy on their triggers."

Instead of answering, she reached across and pulled his combat knife from his belt, then drew the blade across her scalp above her right eye, wincing at the pain. Blood welled up and poured down her face. "Good enough?"

"And what if another Eight has a scalp wound?"

"I'll be the only one who knows the password. You do remember the password? I bet you thought that was just some ridiculous idea thought up by one of the bean counters….given you already know what the Cylons look like."

The Gunny chuckled. "Yes ma'am. 'Gaius Baltar is a skinny weasel.' So you're the bean counter?"

Her only answer a smile, she resumed, "Once I have the civilians located and the egress figured out, I'll direct and coordinate the squads to rescue the civilians and get them to their exfil point. Then advise each squad, based on circumstance, if they are to return to their Raptors or catch a ride out with the civilians. I'll try to rejoin you before everyone jumps out. Now, have you figured out where we are on that map?" Pulling the map over, he pointed to a spot about two thirds of the way down the hull. She drug his finger over a couple of inches. "Check in with the other teams and figure out where they are. But use the radio sparingly. We don't know how long the encryption will remain secure."

"Yes, Lieutenant." There was no scorn in his voice this time.

"And remember that password. I don't want to get shot before I see my daughter again." This last was said over her shoulder, as she was already jogging off down the corridor.

 _That's a hell of a woman,_ Iglesia thought, trying not to enjoy _too_ much the sight of her retreating ass. _Too bad she's a frakkin' toaster.  
_

* * *

.

Having first gone to where Hera and Maya, the woman with whom Roslin had fostered the baby, were being kept, D'Anna had assured herself of their safety. The Eight and Six who had been staying with her had left in the chaos and confusion, which didn't surprise her at all. But the two Centurions standing watch over the human and her charge had never wavered in their duty, which also didn't surprise the Three.

Having alleviated the first of her fears, D'Anna now strode into Command Hub, shocked to find it empty, save only for the Hybrid, gabbling away a litany of disasters and shattered systems. But then, assuming the ship was as dead as D'Anna's eyes and the Hybrid's ranting were telling her...perhaps they had felt there was nothing they could do here.

Striding to the nearest interface point, she plunged her hand into the datastream. Reports were scattered. There was a lot of damage...a lot of dead. And some scattered reports from the Centurions...which might indicate the presence of Colonial forces. Rapidly, she shifted focus to the nukes she had placed in the main reactor and at various points throughout the ship.

They hadn't been armed yet. Cavil hadn't yet decided to blow them. She let out a sigh, shocked at the wave of relief that washed through her. Rapidly, she constructed an encrypted lockout program that would prevent Cavil or anyone else from triggering the nukes. She would have to overlay the routine across all of the nukes at once, lest someone notice what was happening, and quickly trigger a detonation. It took an extra moment to prepare, but soon she was ready.

With a rapid pair of barks from a pistol somewhere behind her, D'Anna's knees exploded. She toppled over backwards with a howl, her lockout sequence dissolving with the loss of contact to the datastream. Blinking in pain, she stared up at an Eight with a drawn pistol. "Oh my God, it's you." Sharon ignored her, walking over to a different datastream and plunging her hand in, a look of concentration on her face. "You're betraying your own people. For what?"

"I'm a Colonial Officer now."

"You're not one of them."

"I gave them my word."

"Well that's not what counts. It's who you give it to."

"I'm not going to have to shoot you again, am I?" Suddenly, the Eight's head snapped up in surprise. She called out, "Drawer 378." With a dull rasp, a drawer in the bulkhead sprang open. Sharon strode over and reached inside.

"What are you doing?"

Sharon withdrew a folded cloth case, opening it to look inside. She drew out a Colonial Launch key...the key to Colonial One. She glanced over at D'Anna. "Really? You kept it here?"

"Well, it's _supposed_ to be the most secure area on the ship. We weren't expecting one of our own to betray us." She paused for a moment. "Hera lives," D'Anna stated casually.

Now it was Sharon't turn to pause. "What?"

"You're daughter Hera is _alive._ Your new friends tell you that?" Sharon looked surprised, taking a few steps closer to the downed Three. "They faked her death and they hid her from you."

"No shit," Sharon retorted, then fired her pistol through D'Anna's hip. "I'm not going to kill you, but you need to be nice and wounded so you can't warn the others."

Now ignoring the writhing Three, Sharon returned to the datastream, and began giving orders to someone over a radio.

D'Anna passed out. The next thing she knew someone was shaking her back to wakefulness. "D'Anna. D'Anna! What happened here?"  
With a groan she opened her eyes...and stared right into Cavil's, squatting above her and holding her shoulders, prepared to give her another shake. A Six stood directly behind him. From her choice of garb and her bearing, she would guess it was none other than Caprica Six. "Not exactly the face I wanted to wake up to," she mumbled.

"Well, I guess it's good to see your sense of humor didn't leak out with all of your other fluids contaminating the floor," he retorted. "Now what the frak happened? It looks like you were shot?"

"How observant. That's because I was shot. The humans are here. Sharon Valerii is helping them. Why are you here?"

He dropped her, standing up, and her head banged painfully against the floor. "The ship is in chaos, dead in space. We tried to get fixing things directly, but there's too much damage. We thought we would try getting things organized from here again."

He turned to look at a nearby interface point. "But if the humans are here...if they've boarded the ship...then the Pegasus must be right on top of us. Which simplifies our situation greatly." He looked down at D'Anna. "It seems I owe you an apology, Three. You had more foresight than I. Clearly the Pegasus and the Admiral are more formidable than I ever gave them credit for. Well, no doubt having a Cylon on their side tipped the scales a great deal. But either way, it appears your insistence on contingency plans were nearly prescient. Perhaps you share some traits with our dear Hybrid."

In the background, the Hybrid was still rattling off one damaged system after another. "FTL system check, all systems offline. Diagnostic systems inoperable. The agony exquisite. Running seventeen percent on heat exchanger. Cross cut lateralized. The third dimensional matrix is down. End of Line. New paragraph. Autosensors repairing. Relay to zero zero zero zero five six two. High gradic fluid below minimum levels, causing damage to endometrial matrix. Watch your back One. Gravitational systems three zero five nine two six seven, cascading failure." And on and on. Through her pain, Three barely heard the warning buried in the babble. The other two didn't seem to notice anything at all.

Cavil continued. "Our solution is now simple. We blow your nukes, Three. We take all of the humans and the Pegasus out with us. Elegant." Cavil began to walk to the interface port. D'Anna was barely able to moan out a "no." Caprica, on the other hand, shocked them both. She strode over and placed herself squarely between Cavil and the interface.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.

"I can't allow you to set off the nukes. It'll kill everyone."

"We'll all resurrect," he responded, truly baffled.

"Hera won't. Don't do it."

"The child is a fluke. More than that. She's an abomination. A mix of human and Cylon? She sullies our good form. Now, get the hell out of my way."

"No," Caprica ground out. "I'll stop you."

"Oh." Cavil seemed more than a little surprised. "Oh, I see." He took a step back. "You know, I have to wonder...what exactly is it that turned your Cylon brain to mush. Was it all that time spent around the humans? Was it the sex with Gaius Baltar? Are the human males right? Is it because all women are just crazy?" He put as much scorn as possible into the last sentence. And then, in one smooth motion, he drew his side arm and levelled it at her head. "Or is it just because the Sixes are a substandard model." He took a deep breath. "I know you keep a gun stashed at the small of your back. Take it out, very slowly, and place it on the ground. Then kick it away. Slowly. It'd be a shame for me to kill you with this gun. You should get to experience the inside of a nuclear blast. Afterall, experience is the spice of life."

Caprica did exactly as he instructed, slowly removing her pistol and placing it on the floor. She then kicked it away and it slid across the floor….practically right into D'Anna's hand. Cavil hadn't noticed at all. "Now get the frak out of my way."

D'Anna drew in a deep breath and braced against the pain screaming out of her hip and knees, then grabbed the pistol and reared up to aim. As Caprica moved, Cavil stepped forward, reaching for the data interface. D'Anna put a bullet through the back of his head.

* * *

.

Laura Roslin and her people had gathered all of the Colonials they could find, and shepherded them away from the points of Cylon activity. This hadn't been too hard...the Cylons were in chaos, trying to get their dead ship running again. For that matter, many of the Cylons had been damaged or injured in the initial attack. So had many of the Colonials.

But now, Cylon forces had entered the area in force, clearly looking for the Colonials. Their most likely purpose was to either remove the Colonials to a more secure location, or just eliminate them outright. But either choice was ultimately a death sentence. And so Laura had taken the gathered Colonials and tried to elude them. As it turned out, hiding from your enemy was basically impossible when you were crammed into a relatively small area, all of the exits to which were guarded by the metallic warriors of that same enemy.

And so, Roslin and the Colonials found themselves back in the large warehouse like room they had used as their central gathering place. Most of the Colonials were huddled against the back wall, as though seeking safety in the crowd. Laura, flanked only by Tory Foster, who refused to leave her, stood solemnly in the center of the room. It might ultimately be an empty gesture, but the President would place herself between her people and the Cylons.

Those Cylons strode through the large double doors, a Three in the lead, flanked by a pair each of Fives and Fours. The Three smiled at the sight of them. "Ahh, Madame President. How nice to see you again. Thank you for gathering your people here for us. I'm afraid your continued presence will no longer be required."

"Neither will yours," Roslin responded. The Three smirked at the idiocy of such a response...right up until Tigh and the security officers who had been hiding by the doors fell onto the Cylons from behind, attacking with shivs and tools and any other weapons they had been able to scrounge. The Cylons fought back viciously using their superior strength. But the surprise was decisive, and the attackers drove them to the floor, making sure to immobilize their weapons immediately. Still, one of the Fives, wearing Aaron Doral's constantly smug face, managed to reach up and snap the neck of a member of Roslin's security detachment, and the Three got off a single shot, killing another. But the flurry of stabbing shivs and pummeling chunks of metal quickly overwhelmed even them. Soon enough they were just five meat based toasters, smeared on the floor.

Saul picked up one of their guns as Roslin approached, and quickly searched the body for any additional ammunition. Others around him did the same, sliding blood-stained weapons into pockets or belts while they took up something better. Saul looked up at the President. "These just might be enough to take down a Centurion or two, but I wouldn't want to find out."

"It sounds like we might not have any choice." From out in the hall the heavy metallic tread of a formation of Centurions was rapidly approaching.

"Everybody up against the sidewalls, then down on the floor," Tigh shouted, waving to the civilians to move away from their huddle against the back wall. The same trick wouldn't work twice. Certainly not against Centurions. Their automatic weaponry would turn this room into an abattoir, if people remained huddled together like that. It probably would anyway. Saul arranged himself and the four other men now possessing firearms into a rough semicircle around the door. There were three others possessing hammer like improvised weapons which just _might_ be able to knock a Centurion down. These he placed adjacent to the doors, in the same location where he and the others had hidden to get the jump on the skin jobs. Everyone else was told to get down, and take what little cover was available. The President might have faith in human resilience and ingenuity, but the Colonel had no illusions about how this fight was going to turn out. He was just glad he would get to go down fighting.

Instead of Centurions, it was a fireball which rolled through the doorway, followed by the sounds of automatic weapons fire...a lot of it. Saul dove for the floor. He did _not_ like the concept of char-broiled colonel.

The weapons fire outside didn't last long, and Tigh prepared himself again for whoever would next enter the room. It was a young face which peeked around the jam. A face wearing the helmet of a Colonial Marine. "They're in here!," he shouted. A trio of Marines made their way into the room. Saul let out a sigh of relief...until a Model Eight followed them into the room, packing a heavy machine pistol. "Cylon!" he shouted.

One of the men by the door reared up at the shout, recognizing the threat. He brought up the heavy length of pipe he had been carrying, and stepped forward to bring it down over the Cylon's head. A Marine Gunnery Sergeant stepped through the doorway behind him, also having heard the shout, and brought up his assault rifle. Without a moment's hesitation he lunged forward, sweeping the stock of his rifle around and planting it between the shoulder blades of the pipe wielding security officer, driving the man to the floor. The security officer rolled over and looked up, stunned, at the Marine non-comm who had him nonchalantly covered with his weapon.

"You will not be assaulting the Lieutenant," the Gunny said matter-of-factly.

Saul, who had been preparing to attack the Cylon himself, froze at this pronouncement. "Lieutenant...Valerii?" he asked with some surprise. Surely that couldn't be right.

"Agathon," she responded back flatly. "Marines!" she called back over her shoulder. It looks like we've got them all. Get in here. We've got to get these people out of here!" With those words, a storm of Marines came through the door. Half a dozen squads at least.

Roslin had approached, tight lipped. She carefully ignored the Gunnery Sergeant hovering over the Cylon's shoulder. "All right Lieutenant. You've made it this far. You have a plan for getting us out of here?"

Sharon nodded. "We know where Colonial One is being held, and we've selected a back route that should be lightly guarded."

One of the pilots of Colonial One stepped forward. With the murder of Captain Eversun, the middle aged woman was now the senior pilot. "Colonial One's not going anywhere. The Cylons took the launch key."

In response, Sharon reached into a pocket and pulled out the key. But she didn't move to hand it over. Making direct eye contact with the President, she calmly said, "Bring me Hera."

Roslin's face went stony. "The child's not here."

Sharon's right hand, carrying her gun, twitched, half coming up before she mastered her urge to point the weapon at Roslin. Behind her, the Gunny glanced at her with concern, but did not move to intervene. "Don't frak with me," Sharon spat. "You're not taking my child again. I've lost her too many times already. You want to get out of here? Give me Hera!"

Saul stepped forward, planting himself directly in front of Sharon. Her own eyes went to his empty socket, widening in shock. "I promise you, Lieutenant, she's not here. The Cylons figured out who she was, and they took her and the woman she was fostered with. Be as mad as you want about the situation, Lieutenant, but almost none of these people knew anything about it."

Sharon searched his one eye, and then her face crumpled. She mumbled to herself, "I just assumed she'd be with... I should have checked...while I had the chance." Visibly taking hold of herself, she clearly came to a decision. "Gunny!"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"You confident you can follow the route I plotted to Colonial One?"

With the barest hesitation he responded, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Get these people there. Full escort all the way. Then set up a half hour timer. Raptor Teams 9, 4, and 12 are to remain aboard Colonial One and ride out with the civilians. All other Raptor Teams should be able to make it back to their craft and ride out that way. If anyone hits too much resistance returning to their Raptors, double back to Colonial One. The Admiral would prefer to retrieve the hardware, but your lives are more important. At the zero mark you all jump together."

"And you, Lieutenant?"

"I'm not leaving without Hera. I'll head back to a data interface and determine her location, grab her, and then join up with one of the Raptors, or steal my own ride out of here."

"That's suicide, Lieutenant. The Cylons are looking for you by now."

"I'm _not_ leaving without Hera," she repeated stubbornly.

Gunnery Sergeant Iglesia nodded, knowing he wouldn't change her mind. Instead he pulled off his battle harness, still half loaded with grenades and demo, and handed it over to her. "Remember what you said...recon, not combat." He paused for just a moment. "We wouldn't have gotten this far without you, Lieutenant. You're not going alone." Raising his voice he called out, "Private Tucker, you're with the Lieutenant. Watch her back."

"Watch the Lieutenant's backside. Will do, Gunny!"

Sharon didn't bother to roll her eyes. _Marines!_ She ran out of the room, past the rest of the Marines milling by the doorway. Private Tucker followed, glued to her tail.

Iglesia turned back to face Tigh and Roslin. "Colonel, Madame President. If you will all follow me, we have a ride to catch."

* * *

.

Caprica and D'Anna finally arrived in the room set aside for Hera and Maya. It had taken forever to get here. D'Anna hobbled along, one arm slung over a Centurion, while its arm helped to prop her up. Every step was excruciating, and she continued to grunt through the pain, but she managed to stay mobile despite her trio of wounds. Frankly, it would probably have been a lot faster to simply have the Centurion scoop her up in its arms...but D'Anna's pride would not allow for such a position, and Caprica wasn't about to try to force the issue. The Three still carried her gun.

They had spotty communication at best. The ship was in chaos. There were garbled reports from all over indicating brief but sharp skirmishes with Colonial troops. The small force sent to eliminate the prisoners had never confirmed completion of the task. Frankly, the whole ship was falling apart. The holding cell for Maya and Hera was yet another example.

The room was a shambles. One of the Centurions guarding the room must have been called or lured away. The other lay in two pieces. An explosion had gone off in the hallway outside the room. The nearest bulkhead had been shattered inward. The Centurion had clearly used its body to try to shelter Maya and the tiny infant cradled in her arms. Clearly, the effort had been wasted on Maya. Her body was torn by shrapnel in a dozen places, and she had clearly bled out all over the floor. The exsanguination had left her body appearing pale and waxy.

Caprica feared the worst, until she heard a tiny wail from under the woman's body. Rushing over, she rolled the corpse aside to reveal the infant, apparently unharmed, though covered in Maya's blood. The woman had apparently wrapped herself around the child while the Centurion had sheltered her. Between the two, the child had survived. It was a miracle. Caprica bent down and scooped Hera up into her arms, attempting to soothe the distressed baby.

D'Anna directed the Centurion to assist her to the side of the room where, back pressed against the wall, she slid down to sit and rest on the floor. Next, she directed the Centurion to guard the door then, setting down the gun, held her arms out to Caprica. "Can I hold her?"

Caprica hesitated, not sure if the bleeding Three was in the best shape to be holding a child. D'Anna shook her arms, as though the matter was urgent, so reluctantly Caprica stepped forward and handed Hera to the Three.

D'Anna's face was transformed, staring at the baby as if she was the only important thing in the universe. Caprica wasn't sure she disagreed, the baby getting the entirety of their focus. Which was probably why they didn't notice the enemy approaching until, with a brief burst of automatic weapons fire, the Centurion tumbled over backwards into the room. Caprica stumbled backwards, seeking cover, as a stray round smacked into the wall bare centimeters from her head.  
An Eight and a Colonial Marine stood highlighted in the doorway. The Marine had his assault rifle trained on Caprica. The Eight had her sidearm pointed at D'Anna. Caprica knew the Eight's identity immediately. There was really only one person it could be.

"Hand over my child, and I won't kill you."

D'Anna grimaced. "I can't really do that. You see, I'm a little immobilized right now. _Somebody_ shot me in the legs and hip. Besides, this child doesn't belong to you, not anymore. She's more important than you. More important than me. She's the future of the Cylon race. She belongs to _all_ of us."

" _She's my child, not yours,"_ Sharon all but growled.

D'Anna paused and took a deep breath, then lowered her eyes. "Of course. Here, take her." She shifted Hera into her left arm and began to half extend it, offering the child to Sharon. Her right arm darted down, scooping up the pistol she had set on the floor next to her, and bringing it up.

Lieutenant Sharon Agathon put a new hole in D'Anna's head, right between the eyes. Then she darted forward before the now slackening arms could drop her child onto the floor.

Rising, shifting the child into a secure hold, she turned her gaze and her gun onto Caprica. Caprica took a step back, raising her arms, knowing that the gesture was futile, that the next bullet would be for her. Hoping that the Pegasus hadn't taken out the nearest Resurrection Ship as well.

Instead, Sharon's eyes widened. "It's you. You're _her._ Caprica Six." Caprica didn't bother to deny it. She didn't see the point. "Tucker, you like leggy blondes?"

"You know it!"

"Well, this one's all yours. Bind her securely, she's stronger than she looks. Then we've got to get moving. We've got maybe ten minutes before Colonial One and the Raptors jump out of here. Given the shape this ship is in...the decompression event will probably cause the whole ship to break up...and that's assuming it doesn't just cause an immediate reactor breach. Raptor 4 should only be a couple of decks up. Let's haul ass and get the frak out of here. We got what we came for." She gave Hera another hug and waited for Tucker to restrain Caprica's arms. Then the four of them headed out.

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Battlestar Pegasus - August, 2249**

Admiral William Adama stood in the Pegasus's starboard flight pod as Raptor after Raptor was brought in. He clasped hands and patted backs as Marines left their craft; some bloodied, others with the wild-eyed looks of those who'd gotten burned coming through the fire, and still others who simply looked exhausted and glad to be home.

He was here for everyone. But he was waiting for one man in particular. Colonel Saul Tigh, he was told, had insisted on catching a ride out with the Marines. That didn't surprise Adama at all. He had also been told that the Cylons had torn out his friend's eye. Seven dead Basestars weren't nearly enough recompense to pay for _that_ crime.

And then a familiar voice rang out. "Permission to come aboard, Sir." And there was Tigh, battered and bruised but not broken. Being helped down from a Raptor by the ground crew.

Adama strode over to face the man. "Permission granted." He was careful to keep the emotion off of his face; to not stare at the hole where the Colonel's right eye should have been. Bill fired off a salute, which Saul hesitantly returned. "You did it. You brought 'em home, Saul."

Tigh shook his head, exhausted and choked up. "Not all of them."

Bill clasped his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"The President?"

"Colonial One made it off safely. She's flying in formation with us. We'll all talk again once we get back to the fleet."

He would have said more, but some idiot had started a chant. The hangar crew and Marines were cheering his name, over and over. _Adama! Adama! Adama! Adama!_ The Admiral found himself hoisted up on the shoulders of his well wishers to cheers from across the hangar bay. Cheers from all except those who had fared the worst. The walking wounded like Saul and some of the Marines. Those just hung back in exhaustion and bemusement, unable to join in the revelry. Bill watched them with concern, but this was part of his duty as well. To be a focus for the crew to release their pent up worry and fears in celebration over their victory. They deserved that. He _owed_ them that.

The rest he could deal with once they finally got home. To the fleet. After two such bloody defeats, surely even the Cylons would think twice before coming after them again. Perhaps, just perhaps, they had bought some measure of safety and security. Perhaps now, finally, they had chased the boogeyman out from under the bed, and could finally get some well deserved rest. Perhaps.

* * *

.

 **Unknown System, Minbari Exploratory Fleet - August, 2249**

"Dur'alyt Rathnier," called out Hiai'sa Ingati, alerting his commanding officer to his presence, then falling silent and waiting to be called upon. Rathnier studied the man. He could tell from his stance that the news would be unwelcome ...to Rathnier, at least. But his once hotheaded friend wouldn't force the news upon him. That wasn't always the case. Partially, it was that Ingati had grown as an officer. Rathnier took a special pride in having helped along that process. But partially it was also that Ingati had come to respect...perhaps even like...his commanding officer ...despite the difference in their castes. Rathnier was fairly certain that wasn't because they had both been promoted together."

Turning away from the young officer, Rathnier once again studied the holographic display of the system in which they had arrived. An impossible system. A system which shouldn't exist at all. _It was here all this time, and we never knew. What_ else is out there? How far does this trail lead?

He was wasting time. He was fairly certain he knew what Ingati was going to tell him, but he needed to know for certain. It was his duty, and he couldn't put that duty off anymore. He turned back to the Hiai'sa. "Report."

"It is confirmed, my Dur'alyt. The humans were in this system. We have found signatures of their drives, their repairs, and their waste." His lip curled on the final word, but he otherwise made no additional commentary.

"It would seem the humans are capable of greater and greater miracles when their survival is at stake."

"Miracles, Dur'alyt?"

"What else would you call their arrival in this system? Given the time and the technology available to them, the likelihood of them finding this hidden path was truly miniscule. Most would call it simply impossible. And yet...they arrived. They found yet another way to survive."

"Could this not be evidence that they are indeed in league with the Shadows?" To his credit, this idea was clearly worrisome to Ingati. Many of the Warrior Caste seemed to find the idea of refighting a Shadow War to be exciting...glorious. Ingati had matured. He understood the death such a war would bring.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it is evidence that the Universe itself wishes the humans to live."

Ingati had no response to that terrible idea…so instead he changed tangents. "The planet you ordered be scanned. It bears the same bombardment signature as Z'ha'dum. This would seem to indicate that this was Shadow territory ...at least, back during that last Great Shadow War."

"Long before our people became players on the galactic stage. But perhaps this means that it is your hypothesis, rather than mine, which will prove true."

They both stared silently across the holographic displays for some time, before Ingati ventured another question. "Dur'alyt...what shall we do now?"

"Our duty, of course. We must report back to the Grey Council. The war with the humans...continues."


	26. Chapter 24 - Portents and Politics

**Chapter 24 - Portents and Politics**

.

 **Rendezvous System, Battlestar Pegasus - August, 2249**

.  
Colonial One jumped into the system barely seconds behind the Pegasus. She popped up on DRADIS, right where she was supposed to be. Unfortunately, she was the only thing that was where she was supposed to be. Adama stared at that all but empty display. "Launch the CAP." _Where the hells is my fleet?_ "Get some Raptors out as well to take a look around. We don't want to be sending high powered signals into the void if we don't have to."

The first Raptor hadn't even launched when the call rang out, "Contact! We've got a small vessel sliding out from behind an asteroid."

"IFF?" Adama asked, maintaining his professional demeanor.

"Reading...Earth Force IFF. It's one of their Cutters."

"We're getting a signal. Message for you, Admiral."

Bill didn't waste time, but neither did he rush. Picking up the handset, he raised it calmly to his face. "Pegasus actual. Go."

"Admiral," came the response, "this is Commander Locarno of the Deneb...ahhh...of the Earth Force. Welcome back, Admiral."

"Where's my fleet, Commander?"

"Inbound now, Sir. You should advise your screen to back off from my position. It's about to get a bit...crowded. Locarno, out." Bill ground his teeth at the unenlightening response, but had it relayed to the CAP and the Raptors which had begun launching.

"Admiral," called out a young Lieutenant whose name Bill could not remember. The young woman was busy managing the sensor feeds from the DRADIS. "That asteroid appears to be...breaking up. And I'm reading an energy signature. Off the charts."

"What's the Earth Force Cutter doing?"

"It's backing away from the asteroid, Admiral, like everyone else."

Once again the Comms officer called out, "Captain Taylor, reporting in Admiral."

Cole Taylor was the Pegasus's CAG and was out leading the launched viper squadrons. Adama raised the handset back to his face and nodded his acknowledgement to Comms. "Stinger, Pegasus actual. Report. What does it look like out there?"

"Admiral, I don't know what the hell I'm looking at. That asteroid sure wasn't. Some kind of machine. Four separate pylons, and they're spreading out. Crackling with energy and... _hooolllly frak_!"

"Stinger!" Adama barked. "Report."

"Sorry, Sir. The thing just erupted into some kind of energy field. Like nothing I've ever seen before."

"Describe it."

"It's like... Well, it looks like..." He hesitated another few seconds, then said. "It looks like somebody flushed a giant toilet. Sideways in space. If they added the blue chemical to the water...and it glowed in the dark." Adama had no response to that. As the silence dragged for a few moments, Cole lamely added, "Sorry, Admiral. That's the best description I can think of. Something's happening now. Something's emerging from the...whatever it is."

"What is it?"

"A ship, Admiral... It looks like...the Astral Queen. Another one...that's the Striker. And there's the Zephyr. They're coming through one after the other, Admiral. It's the fleet. Wait. Admiral, the Lexington just made transit. Looks like the Earth fleet is coming through as well."

"Good work, Striker. Pegasus actual, out." Adama hung up the handset, then turned once more to Comms. "Send a message to the President. Let her know...we're home."

* * *

.

 **Cylon Resurrection Hub - August, 2249**

With a brilliant flash, three more Basestars joined the growing fleet outside the window. John Cavil stared at nothing, but his mind was focused in on those ships through the datastream, tracking their arrival. He had hoped the sight would quell his growing unease and displeasure. It had not. The number of Basestars in system had grown to fourteen. Not enough. Not against the combined human fleets. But it would have to be sufficient for now.

Scowling, he returned his awareness to the room in which he was physically standing, and turned his body back towards the Cylons bickering behind him. Still he did not acknowledge them, taking a moment to close his eyes and listen to Hybrid, babbling her gibberish in the background.

"The excited state decays by vibrational relaxation into the first excited singlet state. Yes, yes, and merrily we go. The chosen of the Kosh have gone mad. End of line. Reduce atmospheric Nitrogen by 0.03%. It is not much consolation that society will pick up the bits, leaving us at eight modern where punishment, rather than interdiction, is paramount. Please, cut the fuse. They will awaken and return. End of line. Limiting diffusions to two dimensions increases the number of evolutionary jumps within the species. Rise and measure the Temple of the Five. Transformation is the goal. They await you. Data font synchronization is complete. End of line." And on and on.

 _Meaningless,_ he mused to himself. He found endless amusement, not to mention a large dollop of superiority, in watching the Twos forever listening to the Hybrids' pronouncements. Lately they'd been joined by the Eights and Sixes. Such inferior models. But, he supposed he'd have to deal with them. It was an Eight and a Six who were still waiting impatiently to speak with him. And they'd brought along a Three instead of a Two, for some reason. The Threes didn't have much faith. They tended to mouth the platitudes, without much conviction behind them.

His eyes narrowed. The Eight and the Six….the fools who referred to themselves as Boomer and Natalie, which was unsurprising. But the Three…. "Stabbed anyone in the back recently, D'Anna?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Now One, you know that wasn't me. I already told you, it was a human. And as I recall, you were shot, not stabbed, in the back of the head, not the back."

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you, being the only one to witness it. It's odd. I don't remember there _being_ a human in the room. Must have slipped my mind."

"Perhaps so. Though, given you had your back to the door, you might be forgiven for not having noticed his entrance. Still, you might be onto something...having things slip your mind. Perhaps your consciousness didn't download properly. That might explain this absurd suspicion and paranoia you seem to have developed. You might want to look into that."

This verbal sparring wasn't getting anywhere, so he turned and walked casually to his desk, taking a seat, then looked them all over. "Well? What is it that was so important?"

It was Natalie who spoke up. "The Hybrid is _clearly_ telling us something."

"The Hybrid is always telling us something," he responded. "They're supposed to maintain operations on each ship, not vomit metaphysics." Natalie looked away in irritation, while Boomer just stared at him unflappably, and D'Anna maintained that amused half sneer. "Alright. I give up. What? What is she trying to tell us?"

"They're in the Colonial fleet. The new humans have brought them out somehow."

"They?" he rolled his eyes in irritation. "They who?"

"The Final Five," Three replied. "They might have been flushed out by the Earthers. Or they might be in hiding."

Cavil felt his eyes widen in shock. "They're not from Earth," he said habitually. Pausing for a moment he stood up, shaking his hand at them. "No, wait, stop. Stop, right now. Turn around, go and take a cleansing walk, and I'm going to try and forget what I just heard."

Natalie wouldn't be dissuaded. "The Final Five! Cavil, they're near! This is far too important…."

"What their eyes must have seen, witnessed over the years…" D'Anna began speaking as well.

Boomer started up as well, smiling, "Do you think they look anything like us?"

One was not amused. "That's enough!" he snapped. "Don't you realize what you're doing? You're openly discussing the Final Five! That's forbidden!" They simply stared back at him, so he continued, "You're toying with our survival." He paused for a moment, then went into stern lecture mode. "Look at yourselves. Look, there's millions of Threes that have that jaw. Millions of Sixes possess that mouth. Eights share those breasts and Ones have this brain. We're mechanized copies. There's a reason the original Programmers clearly felt that it's a mistake for us to contact the Final Five."

"No!" Natalie protested.

"Violating the programming threatens our survival!"

"Something has changed!" she objected passionately.

"Yes, something changed," he paused, thinking, "the fake Earthers came. That's where all this started, with them. Just another group of Colonial refugees joining up, and look how you're acting. Well, this problem needs to be resolved, and we're going to do it."

"Do what?"

"We've been chasing that fleet long enough. We've lost thirteen ships in barely a month. Clearly, your high minded ideals about peace with the humans have failed. It's time to put them down, once and for all."

"As you said," D'Anna spoke up, "they destroyed thirteen Basestars with barely a scratch."

"Six or seven ships won't do it, so we'll hit them with forty. Fifty, maybe. Hell, if the situation warrants it, maybe we'll gather the full fleet. There's no way they can stand up to over a hundred Basestars. It's time to stop screwing around. Humans are cockroaches. So we stomp on them. _Hard._ In any case, it has to be done."

"Says who?" Natalie objected.

"Says God almighty, the voice of reason," he growled, "that's who. When are you gonna hear it?"

" _We_ attacked the new humans first. _We_ abducted their President. We escalated the conflict. But with the new humans, there might truly be a chance for peace. Don't you see, despite all your obstinance, they might actually be from Earth! This changes everything. Those humans had nothing to do with our enslavement! They're innocent! And their arrival now _can't_ be a coincidence. This is part of God's plan! They're here for us, not to be destroyed by us. Who knows what they could offer?"

"In a generation or two, given the chance, they could _offer_ us genocide, as we tried to do, as we _should_ have done, with them. But we're going to correct that oversight."

She stepped forward aggressively in front of him, as Caprica had done just moments before he had been most recently killed. "You don't have the authority to make any change without a majority vote."

"Well, we'll vote. The Fours and Fives will be on my side."

"And the Threes and Eights will be on mine," she insisted.

"But the Two's will be with me as well. You're out voted. Though, congratulations, apparently you've managed to introduce gender politics to our race. Thanks for _that_."

"Don't be so certain about the Twos," D'Anna interjected again. "They've been listening to the Hybrid like we have. They think this is all God's plan as well. And the Earthers' contact package indicates that they are primarily monotheistic. Do you understand? The humans worship _our God!_ That means everything to Leoben."

"Yes, but he'll still vote with me, and you know it. Otherwise you would have brought him to this little meeting. He's still researching, and the recent battles and our losses have him...concerned. So until something changes, he'll listen to logic and reason like a good little Cylon should. I will take the vote."

"Cavil," Natalie said, almost desperately, "something extraordinary has happened. The Earthers are only the tip of the iceberg. Something is calling to us, pushing us to discover our origins, to understand our place in the universe. And the Final Five…"

"Are anywhere but with the humans," he insisted, dismissively; making it clear that the conversation was over.

* * *

.

 **Rendezvous System, Battlestar Galactica - August, 2249**

Laura Roslin sat on Bill Adama's couch, and sipped at a chamalla laced Columbian roast. She supposed she should be somewhat miffed that she had to come to the Galactica, to Adama's quarters, to sample the gifts from Earth. But she had found the morning routine to be quite therapeutic.

Mornings were one of the worst times for her, but she had developed this routine to help her get the day off to a good start. She had her legs curled up underneath her, as she flipped through her paper… part of the Earth First Contact package, which had been restructured into the format of newspapers, in an effort to convey the information without the use of computers or networks. Even now, after the Fall and everything else, Laura still felt Bill was perhaps a bit overly cautious in that regard. But, his caution helped to keep the human race alive, so she wouldn't begrudge it to him.

Lowering her paper for a moment, she called over to the man, sitting a few feet away in his own chair, and flipping through a similar paper. "This is interesting. It's about a people called the Abbai. Apparently the women run everything."

She heard him grunt then, without changing his grip, he used his forefingers to fold back the top half of the paper, so he could make eye contact with her through his bifocals. "So...not too different from here then." And without another word he brought back up his paper and resumed reading. Laura chuckled, and was about to return to her own paper, when there was a knock at the door.

Bill called out for them to enter. Looking over, she saw a Marine swinging the door open, then stepping back as Tom Zarek entered the room. "Madame President. Admiral."

"Am I, Mr. Acting President?"

"Ma'am?"

"Am I the President? I know you've been closeted with the Quorum for most of the last day. Political maneuvers? Trying to retain your position?"

"Not exactly, Madame President. Trying to retain yours."

Laura narrowed her eyes. "Explain."

"I offered my resignation; argued that, given your return, you were clearly capable of resuming your duties. But there was...a counter movement. Somehow...it's gotten out that your cancer has returned. That Major Cottle is unable to treat you, and that you are once again taking chamalla. That concerns several members of the Quorum, and a sizeable faction argued that it makes you unable to properly carry out your duties. Gaius Baltar tried to accept my resignation, and institute himself as the new President. He had...an unfortunate amount of support."

"He didn't succeed?" she asked, aghast.

"No, but it was far too close. I first had to shore up a solid block that would reinforce my resignation not being valid unless it was to return you to office. That took...more negotiation than it should have. But it's done. The harder part was convincing a majority of the Quorum that you were ready to resume your duties. And I didn't...not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I couldn't convince them that you are or would remain fit, all things remaining the same. But I told them things _wouldn't_ remain the same. I got them to vote on hope."

"What does that mean, _exactly_?" Bill asked, entering the conversation.

"Well, Admiral...I had to make certain commitments on her behalf."

Laura felt her eyes narrowing dangerously. Her voice, however, remained perfectly calm. "What sort of commitments?"

"That you would seek treatment from the Earth doctors. What with the medical aid they've been providing the fleet, there's a lot of buzz that Dr. Franklin and his staff are miracle workers. I convinced the Quorum that Franklin would find a treatment that would allow you to fulfill your commitments and duties."

"And if he can't, Mr. Zarek?"

"It's too late. I pushed through the vote. So long as you follow through and seek treatment from the Earthers…. well, as of now I am out of a job, Madame President. My replacement on the Quorum wasn't amenable to stepping down so I could resume the position. So, if at any point you have need of me…. it seems that I have plenty of time on my hands."

He rose and turned to leave, offering brief goodbye's to both of them, while Laura studied her hands, deep in thought. He was almost out the door before she made her decision. "Tom?" he stopped, turning to face her with a questioning look. "I need to thank you. It seems you were working hard for me, both during my absence and while I was recovering. Thank you. It would seem that I misjudged you."

"No, Madame President, I don't think you did. I am every bit the person you think I am. But what I do is in service of the people of this fleet. And it is very clear that you're a better President than I am…. or, gods forbid, Gaius Baltar."

She actually shuddered, then laughed out loud at the suggestion. "Well, either way Tom... I do believe I have need of your talents… a position I need you to fill."

"Whatever I can do to help, Madame President."

"I'm in need of a Vice President." His brow shot up in surprise. Bill wore a similar expression, the comparison making her want to laugh again.

"Ma'am…. I very much doubt Baltar will choose to resign. You'll have quite the political battle on your hands if you try to force him."

"Don't worry about Gaius Baltar. He'll be resigning within the day. I'll be having a little chat with him."

"Are you planning to have my Marines rip his nails out?" Bill asked with actual curiosity.

"Nothing so strenuous. We're just going to have a little chat. And I'll let Gaius know that unless he resigns, I'll be announcing the truth about him to the fleet."

"You still have no proof."

"Don't need it. The government won't act against him. But neither will we lift a finger to protect him."

"He'd be torn apart within a day."

"Yes, he would. If I promise to keep quiet, it will mean he once again escapes justice ... for the time being. This just isn't the time for a big political fight. But eventually he'll get what he deserves."

Zarek cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence. "Is there…. something I should know?" he asked with open curiosity.

"No. Not just yet. But what I need to know, is will you accept the position?"

He hesitated. "What about Wallace Gray? I know you wanted him as VP."

Laura grimaced. "I'm not surprised you haven't heard, but Wallace was killed aboard the Basestar. He still wasn't speaking with me at the time. I'll always regret that. Now, Tom, I'm done asking. You're going to be Vice President."

He gave a half smile. "Yes Ma'am. I wouldn't dare to argue."

* * *

.

Farther aft in the ship, Lieutenant Sharon Agathon and her husband were meeting with a mixed group of Raptor pilots and Marines in the mess. Her friends. _I have human friends. I wouldn't have thought it possible._ Private Tucker was bouncing Hera on his knees, explaining to her his theory about how the Fall proved that you should never purchase an extended warranty on anything. Ever. Another Marine, one who had been part of her entry team on the Basestar, approached the table.

"Hey, Mike," Tucker called. "You wanna hold her?"

"Gods no. I hate babies."

"You idiot. You can't say things like that in front of the mother! You gotta say something nice, like 'I see where she gets her sexy eyes' or something."

"Tucker," Sergeant Iglesia called out in exasperation, "shut the frak up." Sharon just shook her head in amusement. They might be Marines, but as far as she was concerned, they were _her_ Marines.

Racetrack rolled her eyes. "Ignore him, Boomer. You got a cute kid."

Sharon hesitated for a moment. "Uh...no. Boomer was, uh… she was someone else."

Helo glanced over at her in the ensuing awkward silence. Raising his voice, he called out to the room. "Listen, up! We need a call sign for Lieutenant Agathon."

The pilots and Marines began shouting out suggestions. _Chrome Dome! Titania! Lightbulb! Wind-up Toy! Raptor Adapter! Microchip! Digital Dame! Mayflower! Carburetor! Tincan!_

"Brick Shithouse!" Tucker called out happily.

"How about Athena," Iglesia interjected, mostly drowned out by the shouting pilots.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," Helo called out, looking directly at the Sergeant. "What was that?"

Iglesia looked a bit uncomfortable. "You know, the Goddess of Wisdom and War. Usually accompanied by the Goddess of Victory?"

Sharon felt a smile break out on her face. "She likes it," she heard someone say from behind her.

Helo met his wife's gaze. "Athena it is."

* * *

.

 **Cylon Resurrection Hub - August, 2249**

With a groan, D'Anna rolled over on her pallet and sat up. Another night. Another night full of dreams, but no rest. Another night with visions of Hera and five faceless figures chasing each other through her dreams and nightmares. Or were they visions? Another day that would be spent in a haze. A few days back she had drunk down two full bottles of ambrosia, trying to get the fog of despondency and apathy to lift. It had knocked her out, but provided no real relief, so she had given up the attempt at self medication the next day.

Forcing herself to rise, she rapidly dressed, then went in search of something to draw her attention, give her something else to focus on. Unfortunately, there was really nothing she felt truly needed her. Even the other Cylons, sometimes even the other Threes, just seemed so… shallow. Barely even real.

Passing through a busy corridor, she stepped wide around a pair of Fives. "You alright?" a voice asked from behind her. Turning she saw that Natalie had found her.

"Yeah, of course."

"More nightmares?"

"Dreams", she said, shaking her head and offering a small smile. Turning her face away, she continued. "Something different this time, though." Lowering her voice to little more than a whisper, she said, "I think God is trying to tell me something." Natalie looked uncomfortable, and they soon parted ways, D'Anna resuming her aimless wandering.

Her wanderings took her to a lonely corridor, guarded by a single Centurion. She stood there, staring at the Centurion for more than an hour. Finally, mind made up, she began issuing orders. She almost ordered it to carry them out, then paused, thinking. Coming to a conclusion, she added another stipulation. "After you execute this command, you'll delete the order from your logs, and overwrite the corresponding memory locations." Closing her eyes, she softly gave the order. "Execute."

The Centurion fired a single round, right through the center of her forehead.

* * *

.

 **Rendezvous System, Colonial One - August, 2249**

Tory was staring nervously out the nearest porthole. "Madame President… are we sure this is a good idea?"

It was Commander Laurel Takashima who responded. "You can relax, Ma'am. We've spec'd out your ships. They'll handle hyperspace just fine. While you were away, we had your whole civilian fleet hiding out in hyperspace, keeping station on the beacon. There were a few incidents, but all caused by rubbernecking. The view in hyperspace can be...a little intimidating. We sorted those issues out pretty quickly. We'll have your ships in the center of our own. Everything should be fine."

"Should?"

"Have a seat, Tory," Laura instructed. "Worrying about it isn't going to do anyone any good. We can't keep sitting here. The Cylons know where we are, which makes us far too tempting and vulnerable of a target. It's imperative that the fleets remain together. But, while we can use this jumpgate to enter Hyperspace, there is no way for the Earth fleet to perform _our_ kind of jump."

"So we have to follow them," Tory responded nervously, "Yes, Ma'am, I know. I'm still nervous."

"Perhaps if we visited the Command Deck," Takashima offered with a smile. "Having a better vantage point sometimes puts people at ease."

Roslin found herself smiling. Despite the much higher rank, Commander Takashima reminded her an awful lot of Petty Officer Dualla. "That's an excellent idea. Let's all go." Rising, Laura led them all to the cockpit, knocking on the door, but not awaiting a response before entering. The new lead pilot was at the controls. "Captain, you don't mind if we watch from here, do you?"

"No, Ma'am," the woman responded, without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "We're third in line to transition. If you look straight ahead, you'll see the rabbit hole we're about to jump down."

Laura had come up here to put Tory at ease, but found herself fascinated by the amazing sight. The device was still covered in some of the rubble which had accumulated over the millenia it had lain dormant. But now it had separated itself into four long pylons, lit up with energy. But it was the massive...thing...sitting between those pylons which drew her attention. It was an enormous energy vortex, reddish orange and softly luminescing. She'd heard that one of the pilots had described it as a 'toilet flushing sideways in space,' but she didn't see that at all. No, this looked more like…. some kind of tunnel to another world. Which, she supposed, was exactly what it was.

The ships in front of them made transit, crossing the threshold and then seeming to suddenly accelerate out of sight. And then it was their turn. Commander Takashima was steady as a rock, but their pilot was breathing nearly as rapidly as she and Tory were.

"I promise you," Laurel assured, "we're completely safe. We do this all the time."

And then they were through. Surrounded once more by the massive and still amassing fleet of human refugee and military vessels. But it was what lay beyond those that grabbed Laura's attention. The sky... _the entire sky..._ was nothing but a kaleidoscopic display. One vast field of constantly flickering and shifting patterns of light and false shadow. It was clearly akin to the entry vortex, but so much vastly _more._

"I don't know how anyone could navigate in here," the pilot said, almost under her breath. "There's too much confusion."

Releasing a noise both glottal and wet, Tory hurled herself across the compartment and grabbed a sick bag. She only managed to get about half of her regurgitation into the bag.

Commander Takashima nodded resignedly. "Yeah. Sometimes that happens too."

* * *

.

 **Hyperspace, Battlestar Galactica - August, 2249**

"How's the Galactica handling this, Saul?"

"The old girl's solid enough. She's doing fine. But this place we're in? It's godsdamned bizarre, Bill."

Lieutenant Gaeta approached, joining the conversation. "Admiral, DRADIS and other sensors are practically useless. They can't make heads or tails out of this space. If it weren't for our lock on to all of the surrounding Earth ships, we'd be completely lost. We have managed to pick up the signal Earth Force calls the beacon, using the gear they've provided us. At need we'd probably be able to follow that, but we don't have a solid grasp of the systems."

"Understood, anything else?"

"Yes, Sir. FTL drives across the fleet went down the moment we passed the jump gate. Initial investigation seems to indicate that the drives themselves are still functional. The coordinate and targeting system, however, is having apoplexy."

"Keep looking into it. Work with the Earth Force scientists if you can. We run into some kind of emergency, I want to know if we can use our jump drives or not."

Gaeta turned to walk away, but Saul called out to his back. "And while you're at it, find whoever's playing that music and have them shut it the frak off. This is a Battlestar, not a pleasure yacht."

Gaeta froze, then half turned back to the Colonel. "Music, Sir? I'm afraid I don't hear anything…"

"Then see Doc Cottle and get your frakkin' hearing checked. It's clear as day!"

Adama took his eyes off the DRADIS plot and looked over at his friend, concerned. "I don't hear it either, Colonel. Commodore Sheridan warned us that hyperspace had unpredictable or adverse affects on some people….particularly those who might have some penchant for telepathy."

"I ain't no godsdamned mind reader. And I'm not dreaming this up either. Whoever it is was playing that music last night as well. Long before we entered hyperspace. Ellen and I _both_ heard it coming through the walls. Come to think of it, she decided that we should also _both_ be enjoying it." He chuckled just a bit lecherously.

"Ahh...yes, Sir. Then perhaps we shouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth."

The Lieutenant looked supremely uncomfortable, so Bill took pity on him. Truth be told, he didn't really care to hear about Saul's love life either. "The Colonel has always had excellent hearing, Lieutenant. Maybe losing an eye has heightened it a bit. Go ahead and check around with the crew. See if anyone else can place this music."

"Yes, Admiral." Gaeta walked off.

Tigh turned back to his Admiral and, lowering his voice, said, "Thanks, Bill. That kid thinks I'm losing it, but I'm not hallucinating...hyperspace or not."

"You're the rock, Saul. You're the sanest person I know in this fleet. If you tell me there's music, then there is. We'll figure it out. Now, anything else on the agenda?"

"Yeah. I gotta go prep for our first real interrogation of the Six."

"Isn't she calling herself Caprica?"

"I ain't gonna call a frakkin' toaster by the name of a Colony she helped to burn. That'd be spitting on the pyres of billions of citizens."

"Fair enough. Be aware that you might run into Lieutenant Ivanova down there. Sheridan requested, and I agreed, that she have full access to the prisoner at all times, including during interrogation. At least, when her duties don't require her to be elsewhere. Earth Force has questions of their own. But it seems they're also interested in ensuring her 'basic human rights' aren't violated."

"You're bending over backwards kind of far for them, aren't you Bill? Basic human rights? She's a frakkin' toaster!"

"This alliance could mean the survival of our people, Saul. I'll bend over and take a good deal more than this, if necessary. Besides, given what happened on board the Pegasus, it's probably not such a bad idea."

"Don't put the sins of Admiral Cain on us...on me!"

"I wouldn't dream of it Saul. But we _all_ have reasons to hate the Cylons. An impartial observer can help ensure we don't do anything we'll regret later. And if for any reason we need a certain amount of...privacy...the Lieutenant's duties _will_ sometimes require she be elsewhere.

Saul grunted. "I might just have to double check her flight and patrol hours. Make sure Starbuck's keeping her at minimum readiness.

"At need, Colonel. Only at need."

"Of course."

* * *

.

 **Cylon Resurrection Hub - September, 2249**

D'Anna gasped, her eyes flying open, as she writhed up out of the Resurrection pod, amniotic fluid sliding down across her face. As she fought for breath, hands reached down to gently stroke her hair, to hold her shoulders up, to help get the the gel out of her eyes. "It's ok, it's ok, relax…. try to breath through it."

Looking around she saw that she was, once again, surrounded by the usual models which often greeted her after each resurrection. A Six, and an Eight, as well as another Three. Feeling, as always, the urgent need to relay _something,_ to pass on some semblance of what she had experienced before her resurrection, she grabbed on to the nearest hand, made eye contact with the Six as she drew her in closer. Close enough to speak. Her voice came out hoarse and thready, barely above a whisper. "There's something beautiful…. _miraculous..._ between life and death."

The Six shared a look with the other Three in the room, then said, "So you keep telling us." The strange response finally caused D'Anna's brain to kick into gear, and she looked closer at the Six, and at all of the Cylons in the room. This wasn't the group which usually assisted new resurrections.  
Each of them in turn made direct eye contact with her. _Natalie. Boomer._ Glancing at the Three with the stern face, she recognized her as well. A Three who had never been part of the human infiltration, never been given a human identity. A Three who refused to take any name or designation other than Three. And, of all the Threes, the only one who might be said to approach D'Anna in influence and power.

"What's going on?" D'Anna asked in confusion.

"That's what we want to ask you," Natalie said. "Did you think we wouldn't find out? That we wouldn't notice? That the resurrection of dozens of Threes would go unnoted, when we've had no recent action against the humans and no Threes have reported accidents or deaths? Did you think we were blind, D'Anna?"

D'Anna bristled. "Do you have any idea what you're accusing me of?"

"Yes," the Three said from above her. "Intentionally killing yourself over and over, so you can download over and over. But death's just a revolving door, isn't it?"

She stared around in desperation, making eye contact with them all. There was not a hint of support. Not a shred of mercy. Six drove their problem home, implacably. "The Twos are almost ready to vote with us. With every day that passes, we grow closer to shaking One's control over the Council, to stopping an insane attack against the humans, and opening up talks. To the possibility of peace. And this... _insanity…_ of yours threatens all that. You're going to give John leverage to use against us. He won't remain ignorant forever. He may _already_ know."

"There's something beautiful between life and death," D'Anna repeated. She saw anger and irritation flare up in all of those who surrounded her, but held up her hand to forestall a response. "I'm having… visions… every time I resurrect. Visions of the Final Five. Each time… I get closer to seeing their faces. But it's so difficult to pierce the veil that has been thrown over them. There's some kind of block in place. I'm trying to fight my way through."

"By killing yourself," Natalie said flatly.

"It's the only way. I have to keep doing it. Each time I get a little closer. I think I may have seen their faces." She again made eye contact. And again found not a hint of support.

"So who are they then," Natalie asked.

"I can't remember. Been trying to get it down on paper, while it's still fresh in my mind. But, nothing much comes out. But...it's rubbish. I can't remember. That's why I need to keep trying."

"Why can't you wait?" Boomer asked. "Let us get past the vote, let us put all Cylons on a new course. Then you can come back to it, once we're firmly in charge."

D'Anna thought about the suggestion, then shook her head. "Something...made a crack in the veil that shrouds them. These resurrections….I'm trying to push my way through that crack. But...it's fighting back. Trying to close itself. If I stop… if I pause… it may close forever. Don't you see, it's the _Final Five!"_ D'Anna said passionately, unconsciously repeating Natalie's very words to Cavil, not so long ago. "This may be our only chance to find them… to meet them."

Shockingly, it was Three who offered some support. "What if...what if we helped you? Would it be possible to bore through faster?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you sure you're the only one who can see what lies between life and death? Who can bore into this crack? What about others of our model? What about me? If a few of us, or a lot of us, tried as well…. maybe we could break through."

"That's foolish!" Boomer snapped. "Cavil will only find out faster!"

"Then we need a cover." She fell silent thinking.

It was Boomer who came up with a suggestion. "What about...a lot of death, all at once?"

"What do you mean?" Natalie asked.

"Remember that star we charted nearby, the one that is about to go Nova?" Boomer asked, looking around. "For some reason, Cavil is fixated on it. He wants to witness the event close up. We could support his interest. Send a Basestar. Have the Threes claim that they share his fascination, and transfer as many as practicable onto the ship. Then, before the nova, they sabotage the jump drive or the Hybrid, so the ship can't jump away. If all the Threes can bore into this crack, then thousands of them resurrecting all at once might blow it wide open. And Cavil will see it as just an accident."

"That could work," D'Anna said, sitting up more fully, preparing to rise from the goo. "At the very least I will need to continue until then. To maintain the breach. But it would be better if at least a few more Threes tried. Preferably a lot. If nothing else, to at least prove that this ...phenomenon… isn't tied to me alone."

"This is dangerous," Natalie objected. "If Cavil finds out… if he rallies the others against us… we could lose everything we've worked for."

"But if we find the identities of the Final Five," Boomer countered, "then he can't possibly stand against us. We won't need to depend on the fickle decisions of the Twos...on whatever their interpretation of God's will ends up being. It's risky, but it's the only sure way forward."

The Six finally relented, dropping her objections. "Fine. It is agreed. Our future rests on this one gamble. We put our faith in God...and we carry on."


	27. Chapter 25 - Music in the Dark

**Chapter 25 - Music in the Dark**

 **Cylon Heavy Raider, Unknown System - September, 2249**

John Cavil sat at the controls of the Heavy Raider, a pair of his brother Ones sharing the cabin with him. They stared in eager anticipation at the astronomical event, filling the view out of the canopy. A White Dwarf and a yellow Main Sequence star tightly orbited each other, their orbital period having fallen to just under twenty three hours. The massive gravity from the White Dwarf was ripping and stretching material from its yellow companion, drawing a massive tendril of stellar material towards itself, and into the accretion disk surrounding it.

John glanced to the left, towards the Basestar hanging nearby in space. A Basestar practically filled with Threes; more even than his brothers. He was rather surprised some of them hadn't insisted on coming out here with him. But then, they weren't truly interested in the upcoming Nova, afterall. That was just a ruse.

Seeing the direction he was looking, the One to his left asked, "Are you certain this was a good idea? Especially given what we learned from Boomer? Their plan might work."

"But it doesn't matter. We've already taken all of the necessary precautions. In fact, allowing their plan to proceed is part of those precautions."

"Of course. Still, it's a risk."

"Yes, but we're machines. We don't allow worry to cloud our judgement. We simply calculate the course with the greatest likelihood of success, and work it through to completion."

"Of course."

His other brother chose that moment to speak up. "I'm reading a rapid buildup of energy. It's about to happen."

Rapt, they all watched, anticipating the moment they had all come to witness. It did not disappoint. With a flash, the gases which had been accreting onto the White Dwarf underwent runaway fusion, and with a giant flash the Nova erupted.

The Heavy Raider had been hardened against the massive photonic pulse which let them know the Nova was underway. Still, the exterior of the craft smoked and burned under the onslaught; and Cavil and his brothers, despite their Cylon resistance to most forms of radiation, felt their skin burning rapidly. Their eyes were very nearly blinded.

"I suppose we should head back to the Basestar now," Cavil said. "Shame." The Cylon vessels were far enough back from the stars that there would be a significant delay between experiencing the burst of lightspeed photons and the massive wall of accelerated gases...plasma really, which would be following it. Time enough to return to the Basestar and jump away. Which was the official plan.

"Yes, I would have preferred to be able to watch the wavefront as it rolls towards us and then burns us to ash," his brother agreed. "Especially since the Basestar won't be going anywhere."

"Of course," John replied. He too wished to see and experience the event in its entirety. The primal shout of one the most powerful forces in the universe. Part of the chorus of the stars, whose music included pulsars and hypernovae and a myriad of other such events, all of which John longed to experience for himself. "But we have to show the Threes just how surprised and dismayed we are when the hyperdrive fails. Give them their moment of victory. We each have our parts to play in ensuring all Cylons stay on the proper course. Just consider it another sacrifice for the common good."

"Still, it would have been nice to see the wavefront hit with our own eyes."

"Better yet if we could watch it with something better than eyes," his other brother corrected.

* * *

.

 **Battlestar Galactica, Unknown system - September, 2249**

Laura Roslin grimaced in discomfort, leaning back on the infirmary gurney and taking a sip of stale water from the small paper cup Doc Cottle had handed her. It made her mouth wet, but it didn't really make her feel the least bit better.

"Well, congratulations. You survived your third and final Doloxan treatment."

"Final?" she asked in surprise.

"I'm putting an end to it. All the tests show zero response from the cancer. Your body, on the other hand, is falling apart. If we keep going, the cancer is going to be all that's left."

"The chamalla…" she began.

"Is just masking the pain. And not very well, from what I can tell. It is no longer having any therapeutic effect at all. And before you ask, I've run more tests on Hera's blood. In case you missed it, Ms Agathon…. I guess she's going by Athena these days ... brought her in. They're both across the infirmary, sitting in another bay. After what we pulled with her child….you might try a 'thank you.'"

Laura ignored the last remark. "And the blood? Can it help me?"

He grimaced, looking at her disapprovingly, but chose not to push the point. "No. I've run the tests three times to be certain. Whatever it did before, it's not doing it anymore." He paused, hesitating. "I've got to ask. Why are you so hesitant to accept Earth Force help? They're already well aware of your cancer. It wasn't exactly a state secret. And I've spoken with Dr. Franklin about your case personally. He seems confident he can help you. Already gave me a couple pills to give you before you come and see him." Cottle pulled a small pill bottle out of his pocket and gave it a shake, rattling around its contents. "Their medical technology is impressive. Not miraculous like some of the people they've helped are saying...but damned impressive. And worlds better than the limited tools we were lucky enough to gather into the fleet. It's your best bet."

Roslin grimaced again. "I know. But if my treatment can only come from the Earth Force, that makes me reliant on them. Compromises my objectivity. We're already far too dependent on the Earth fleet." She hesitated, then admitted, "Maybe I'm just too stubborn. Despite everything he did for me, I don't like that Tom painted me into a corner."

"Well the fact that you're referring to him by his first name, rather than saying 'Zarek' like you just took a bite of something rotten, tells me that you can see why it was necessary. Look, I don't know if Doctor Franklin can help you. And frankly, it bruises my professional ego that someone that young might be able to do something I can't, but they're your last, best hope. The longer you wait, the further the cancer progresses, the less likely they'll be able to help you."

She sighed. "Fine. Give me the pills. What's in them anyway?"

"No idea. I've got a name, but I'm not a chemist, so I didn't bother with the chemicals, just potential interactions. He wants you to take them instead of eating anything, twelve hours before seeing him, and ingest nothing but water after that. Given that, it's probably a chemical designed to help them scan your body. Identify problem locations. Something like the Barium sulfate suspension I had you take a while back."

Laura grimaced, "That was awful."

"Nobody said having cancer would be a cake walk."

"Fine." She held out her hand. "Let's get this over with."

"Unfortunately, Franklin told me you would need to have the Chamalla entirely flushed out of your system first. That's going to take a few days. I know you remember how unpleasant that can be. We can start that now, and I'll give you the pills when you're ready."

"Joy. Talk about the cure being worse than the disease."

"Well, read a book, do some paperwork. Anything you can find to keep your mind off of it, and to also help keep your blood pressure down."

Laura chuckled as she leaned back on the gurney. "Yeah, right." A wave of exhaustion washed over her.

"If you'll excuse me, I do have some other patients."

She had already closed her eyes, falling backwards into slumber. She managed to raise a hand and wave at him, "Alright, go," but was already asleep by the time the sound of the curtain being drawn reached her ears.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. She opened her eyes, looking around. There was no trace of the pain, the discomfort she had lived with for so long. But that didn't matter. Her body was full of energy, vigor; her fight or flight reflexes ramping up to a fever pitch. She looked around, realizing where she was. _The Kobol Opera House._ Something was wrong here. Something that required her immediate attention.

She began to stride forward, looking for she knew not what. The light was odd here. Shadows danced strangely in the corners. Odd music reverberated through the halls. She was on an elevated walkway, high above the floor. Glancing to her right, she stopped in shock. _Hera._ Across from her, on a matching walkway on the opposite side of the building. Only, the child was neither on her own, nor being carried by her mother. No, the baby was in the arms of someone, _something,_ robed and glowing brilliantly in white. It's face unrecognizable, too bright to look at. Laura was certain it _must_ be a trick of the light, but she would have sworn she had seen _wings_ stretched out behind the thing. And then it rounded a corner taking them both out of sight.

Hera had been crying.

Laura walked faster, determined to save that child.

It was a Six she saw next, also striding down an opposite hallway. She heard the voice of Athena shouting her child's name, echoing through the Opera House. Laura caught sight of the strange apparition again, still carrying Hera, making its way towards an exit. She broke into a run.

As she hit the main Opera House floor, she felt fear and anxiety welling up inside of her, overflowing. Glancing towards her right, she saw Athena right beside her, keeping pace as they charged after the apparition. To the left, the Six, it _must_ be Caprica, was charging down a side aisle, also chasing the child.  
A pair of large doors at the front of the lobby opened of their own accord. Blinding light flowed in from beyond them. Glowing even more brightly still, was the pair of figures standing in that doorway, robed and hooded, wings spread wide.

The figure carrying Hera strode between them, enveloped in their wings, and the doors slammed shut.

Laura Roslin jerked upright on her gurney, screaming at the top of her lungs. A simultaneous scream echoed from across the infirmary, accompanied by the wailing of a baby. Roslin, all the aches and pains having returned, levered herself to her feet as rapidly as she could and dragged her IV stand out of her little bay, sweeping the curtain aside.

"What's going on!?" Cottle was shouting, looking from her to Athena, who had stepped out of the bay opposite, and was desperately trying to comfort Hera. "You're both freaking out at the same time!?"

Laura glanced from Cottle to Athena, thinking frantically. "We need a moment. Will somebody get this off?" she asked, indicating the IV. "Take this off of me, please."

Cottle stepped forward, irritated. "Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?" When she didn't answer, he proceeded to remove her IV. Rather than answer, Laura just stared at Athena.

.

Half an hour later, the two of them, having cleaned up after their visit with Doc Cottle, were escorted by a trio of Marines into the prisoner's cell. Caprica's cell. The Cylon, who had just been shackled moment's earlier, looked up at them in surprise. Standing next to her, Laura was surprised to see Lieutenant Russki.  
"Go outside," Laura ordered the Marines. "We'll be fine. Thank you. Shut the door." When Russki started to move, Laura paused for a second. "Lieutenant, please stay."

Caprica looked up at them in apparent bewilderment. Turning to her, Laura crossed her arms. "I'm sorry about the shackles." The Six just sighed, looking downward, so Laura continued. "Were you with us, a moment ago, in the lobby of the Opera House?" Caprica sat up straight in shock, looking back and forth between her and Athena. "I'll take that as a yes, by the look on your face."

"I was there too," Athena offered. "And so was Hera."

Caprica's apparent confusion only grew. "That shouldn't be possible."

"Add it to the list," Athena responded.

"Were you trying to reach Hera?" Laura asked.

Caprica shook her head. "I don't know." She rose from the cot. "I just knew that I had to protect her with my life."

"And what were those things?"

"I don't know. The wings….if they were wings….well, that might indicate they were angels of God."

Athena snorted, but Laura only asked, "And is there a reason your God would want to kidnap Hera?"

"I don't know. I just don't know."

Athena tried a different tack. "You said you needed to protect Hera with your life. From us?"

"No," Caprica said shaking her head. "I was there….I think I was there to help you?"

"From your angels then?" Laura asked, pressing.

"Maybe. But… I think there was something else in that Opera House as well. Something in the shadows.

Laura desperately wanted to scoff, but something in the back of her mind nagged at her about how the shadows in that place had seemed to dance to the ethereal music washing through the place. She glanced over at Russki. "Well? You're the walking lie detector, aren't you? So? Is she trying to deceive us?"

Russki looked back at her wide eyed, clearly wishing to be anywhere but here. "Madame President...I have no idea what _any_ of you are talking about. But no...she's not lying. She's been nothing but truthful."

Laura took a deep breath thinking. Not caring if those thoughts might leak out to the Lieutenant. Coming to a decision, she nodded. "Alright Lieutenant. I assume you have the key. Remove those shackles. You'll have to remain locked up, Ms Caprica, but I'll allow you some limited movement about the ship. Under Marine guard, of course. At least for now. But at least you can take your meals outside of this room. If that works out...well, we'll keep our options open for the future.

* * *

.

Elsewhere on the Galactica, Samuel T. Anders found himself wandering up one hallway, and down another. He was getting some odd looks, but he couldn't be bothered to give a damn. He was hot on the trail of whoever was playing that damned music. He must be close, he kept just hearing snippets of it. When he finally caught up to that asshole, he was going to rearrange his face. Sam hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in nearly a week, all because some asshat wouldn't stop playing that shitty tune over and over again. Lack of sleep left him in a daze. Too much confusion.

Only half aware of his actions, he passed a Marine at a secure hatch, absently waving his ID. He then continued chasing the barest hint of a sound floating to him from down the corridor. Taking a turn and passing through another hatch, he found himself on a busy hangar deck.

He stopped short, realizing that he most definitely shouldn't be there. About to turn and leave, he froze, hearing a snippet of humming coming from a nearby Viper. Something familiar.

It was Galen. Sam strode over, stepping right up to where the Chief was working. Galen looked up. "Hey Sam. How'd you get in here?"

"I've got a pass now. The Admiral put out a request for more pilots. Sounded urgent, but they didn't say why. Given my athletic career...well. They didn't even ask questions. As soon as they find a trainer, I'm gonna be a nugget."

Tyrol chuckled, having gone back to working on the Viper. "Doesn't mean you should be here now. But don't leave," he said, making eye contact. "We're busy as hell, and I could use a hand. Here, put your hand there, and hold this in place, while I secure it." Sam did as asked, and Galen started tightening connections, much more efficiently for the assistance. In return for the help, he offered an explanation. "Did you know that I was on the Nova and the Lexington, installing the grav plate they traded for?" He waited for Sam's response in the negative, then continued. "While I was there, I got a look at some of the supplies they have in storage. When I got back, I told the Admiral he needed to beg, steal, or borrow some of them. I think he traded instead. The supplies were delivered yesterday. Enough parts to build fifteen new Vipers." Sam gave a low whistle, and the Chief looked up with a broad smile. "Oh, every one of them will be as rough as the Blackbird was. But they should be able to match a Mark II at the least. And every one of them will incorporate Earth Force inertial compensation. If I can figure out how to get the damned modules to work properly, that is."

"That's really amazing, Chief."

"It's an amazing lot of work, is what it is. So I'm glad you stopped by to get Shanghaied." He stepped around to the back of the Viper, and began working on the plumbing back there, pointing out again where Sam could assist him. "Of course, you nuggets aren't going to be getting the new birds. Given their likely flight characteristics, those'll go to experienced pilots. And if any of _those_ pilots came out of Mark VIIs, then the Mark II pilots will move up to those. And you lucky nuggets, well… you'll get the geriatric old birds."

"All I could ask for, Chief."

"Heh. So what made you want to be a pilot, Sam?"

"I don't know. Just trying to get Kara's attention, I guess."

Galen froze for a moment, then returned to his work. "Oh, yeah? How're things going there?"

"I'm not sure they even are. I've barely seen her in the last month. She's been buried in work, and I get the distinct impression she might be avoiding me. Except when she gets drunk and wants to play, which is pretty much the only time I see her. If she wants things to be over with, I wish she'd just come out and tell me already. What do you think, Chief?"

Galen paused in his work again, and made direct eye contact. "Sam, I'm probably the worst person in the fleet to ask for relationship advice. I don't understand women at all. But I do know one thing… and that's that Kara Thrace is pretty much about as mysterious and confusing as they come. So all I can say is...good luck."

Sam laughed, then figured it was time to take his chance. "Hey Chief, that song you were humming when I walked up? What is that?"

Galen paused again, then started scratching his brow, apparently uncomfortable. "Oh, ahh … you know what...I don't even know. It's just something… I can't get outta my head. Some kinda way out of here." Embarrassed, he started working again.

Sam wouldn't let it go. "I've been hearing that. Everywhere. The boombox. The mess hall."

Tyrol looked up in shock, then glanced around, almost guiltily, to be sure they weren't being overheard. He waved his finger for Sam to follow him, then stepped around behind the Viper, clearly seeking more privacy. "Come here." He motioned Sam in close. "You hear... _that_ song?"

"Yeah! It's freakin' me out. I hear it everywhere. I mean I...but I can't… I can't really hear it. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah. It's like you can grab just a part of the melody, and then it goes away. Like it's from...childhood."

"Childhood," Sam agreed. "Exactly."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, with an unspoken agreement, went back to working on the Viper.

Sam stuck around for the next several hours. When the Chief finally let him go with barely a thank you, moving on to the next on his unending list of tasks, Sam took the opportunity to slip out as quickly as possible. He knew he should return to his bunk, get some rest. Instead, he went right back to hunting that damned music.

That was how, several hours later, he found himself in an empty storage room, having been listening to the walls for over an hour. He was on the verge of perhaps catching another snippet of the melody, when the hatch opened with a clang. Sam was more than a little shocked to see the President's aide... _what was her name? Tory something? …_ walk in. She started when she noticed him, cleary not having been paying attention to where she was going.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize someone was in here. Actually, I'm not really sure where here is."

"Are you lost? Where were you going?"

"I was consulting with the President, who has business onboard. But, I need to get back to Colonial One. I guess I got distracted and turned around in the hallways. There's too much confusion. But there must be some kinda way outta here."

He stepped closer, directly in front of her, making urgent eye contact. "What did you just say?"

"I… I don't know." She seemed distracted again. "Where's that music coming from?"

He was hearing the music as well, but for once he didn't care where it was coming from. He wanted… _needed_ to know whatever she might have discovered about the music. Any information she might have...might just help him to solve the puzzle. He called her name. Twice. But she was too distracted, not paying attention to anything but the music.

So he kissed her. Hard. Shocked, she took a step back, looking up to meet his eyes for the first time. Staring hard into him. "I have to get back to Colonial One."

Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. "You don't have to go anywhere."

Tory crossed her arms and, in one smooth move, pulled off her top. Then she stepped forward into his arms.

* * *

.

 **Cylon Resurrection Hub - September, 2249**

D'Anna stepped forward, looking around in wonder, neither alive nor dead. She was in...she was in an Opera House. _The Ancient Opera House of Kobol?_ Eyes widening in a combination of fear and anticipation, she ascended the stairs to the main stage. She spun about, taking in the richness of the polished wood floor or the gilded arches and wainscoting. But it really was just a delaying tactic. A means to stretch out this moment, for which she had waited so long, suffered so much.

She turned back to the figures standing before her, glowing with their own internal light. Six pristinely white banners, brilliantly luminescing, swooped down from above. Standing between them, robed and hooded in matching material, were five mysterious figures. Heads bowed. Hoods hanging low to cover their features.

"The Final Five. Is it really you?" she murmured softly, more to herself than them. She stepped forward, and they slowly raised their heads. Her eyes widened, swinging from one to the next, shocked.

She stepped forward, coming face to face with the one in the center. Their leader. "You." D'Anna found herself on the verge of tears. "Forgive me. I had… I had no idea."

.

With a noise halfway between gasp and scream, she opened her eyes to the ceiling of the resurrection room, struggling to lift her face up out of the amniotic goo. A One, wearing that stupid brown hat they all favored, hovered over her, holding her hand. "You know the drill. Looong, deep controlled breathing."  
She rolled her head to the side to make eye contact with him...desperate to relay what she had seen. Oddly, there were no other models in the room. "At least you'll never have to go through this again. The decision wasn't easy but… the conclusion was inevitable. Your model is fundamentally flawed. Although the vote came down along gender lines. Yet another problem you introduced that I am going to have to fix."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Perhaps she was hallucinating. It happened sometimes, with resurrections. "No," she whispered hoarsely, trying to argue. "It's not a flawed question, our purpose, is it? The one who programmed us...the way we think, and why?"

"Well that's the problem, right there. The messianic conviction that you're on a special mission to enlighten us. Look at the damage it's caused."

"I would do it all again," she replied, smiling.

"Yes, we know. That's why we've decided to… Box your entire line." She stared up at him in shock, disbelieving. "Your consciousness, memory, every thought your model ever had, going into cold storage. Indefinitely."

"One must die to know the truth," she protested. "There are five other Cylons brother. I saw them. One day you're going to see them too. One day."

He sighed. "Goodbye." So saying, he slowly withdrew his hand from hers.

"Brother?" she asked questioningly...beseechingly. "Brother?"

She heard a button click, and with a winding down of power, the lights on the resurrection pod went out. Her consciousness went with them.

* * *

.

 **Battlestar Galactica, Unknown system - September, 2249**

Caprica Six was seated on the floor of her cell, leaning against her bunk. Despite being allowed to take her meals elsewhere, and to occasionally walk the corridors for exercise, it was clear she was still a prisoner. Which was why she found it nerve wracking when the locked door banged open, and the ship's XO, Colonel Saul Tigh, sauntered in, surrounded by a trio of Marines. The only marginally friendly face was Lieutenant Russki, half a step behind him.

Tigh didn't so much as pause, but launched into some kind of speech, looking down at her from his secure position surrounded by armed Marines. "We just completed a transit via the FTL system the Earthers use. I'm told it took us farther in one hop than any five jumps this fleet is capable of making on its own. And yet...just a few hours after we had moved on again, an Earth Force cutter, left behind on picket duty, caught sight of a large Cylon fleet entering the system. Now...I'm not very good at math, and when Gaeta tried to show me the numbers...well, it was pretty much just gobbledygook. But what I did pick up from all that gibberish, was that your Cylon buddies _shouldn't_ have been able to catch up to us like that. At least not that quickly. The odds against it are literally astronomical. Space is huge. Really, truly enormous. You just haven't got the ships to search that much territory, that quickly."

He paused. "Not unless you're tracking us. Now, our President, gods bless her sunny optimistic soul, thinks you might want to share how your buddies have been tracking us." Stepping forward to stand directly over her, he continued, "So I'm here to ask the question, and listen to your lies."

She hesitated, looking up at him. Finally, she began, "In the last battle we discovered your fuel ship… had a unique radiation signature. They must have found a way to track it."

"What else do you know? What other secrets are rattlin' around inside of that mechanical brain?" Fear flooded through her. She had no idea what to say, what she could give him to appease his evident anger.

It was the Baltar who never left her that came to her rescue. Squatting down next to her, he counseled, "Don't be intimidated by him. He's just using you to excise his own pain. Poor old sod. Lost his eye. Needed his wife to rescue him. Thought he was in control, a leader amongst his people, and suddenly he's powerless and at the mercy of his captors. Oh, well, you know how that feels, don't you?"

Caprica looked up to meet the Colonel's gaze. "I know a lot of things. You wanna know one thing I know? I know about your wife. What she had to do so save you. Hurts, doesn't it? You wonder how you can survive it.

Tigh's smirk faded. "I don't know what you're talking about. But it's not gonna work."

"She's his world," Baltar whispered in her ear. "Of course, it took events on the Basestar to remind him what he had. Events that twisted everything."

"Did you know?" Caprica asked, levering herself into a standing position. "Did she know? Did you know how much she means to you? Or did it only occur to you once she was frakking Brother Cavil to save your pathetic life?"

Saul stared at her, stunned. " _What?"_

She stepped right up into his face. "No, you made her think she was a burden. A millstone around your neck. She did what she did because you made her feel _obligated._ But then you humans always destroy anything good you have, don't you?"

Saul swung without warning, backhanding her across the face, spinning her about. Caprica wiped her mouth, and slowly turned back about. With a speed and strength that caught every human in the room by surprise, she threw an overhand right that connected with the side of the Colonel's head, tossing him a step backwards to bounce against the bulkhead. All three Marines cocked their rifles simultaneously, taking a half step forward to interpose themselves between her and the Colonel. Those rifle, aimed directly at her head, would kill her the moment she so much as moved. Caprica chuckled, smirking at Tigh.

"Easy, everyone," Russki cautioned. "Let's take a breath."

"Shackle this thing," Tigh ordered.

"The President restricted the use of shackles, Colonel," the Lieutenant advised. "We'll need to get her agreement first."

"Oh, to hell with it," Saul cursed, turning to leave.

Russki nodded to the Marines, indicating they should follow the Colonel. "I'll check on the prisoner. Make sure the Colonel's alright."

When the last Marine had stepped through the hatch, she swung it closed, securing it in place, then turned back to Caprica, walking back into the room. She glanced up at the lone camera in the corner, angled down to pick up everything happening in the room.

In a heartbeat, the camera lens slammed upward to point at the ceiling, as though it had been struck by a bat. Catching the movement, Caprica's eyes widened in disbelief. "What the frak?" Her voice froze as Russki glanced her way, and began to stride towards her. She wanted to shout, to run, but shock had frozen her in place.

Gaius stood in the middle of the room, looking at her, interested to see what she would do. He glanced back over at the Lieutenant with obvious curiosity. Russki was striding over to her. Fear spiked even higher through Caprica.

As she passed the Gaius in Caprica's head, Russki spun smoothly on her heel and drove the palm of her left hand up under his jaw. His head snapped backwards, stretching his spine and driving him up onto his toes. Dropping her left hand to his shoulder, she pulled downwards as her right knee drove up into his genitals.

All the air left his lungs with a squeak, but she wasn't finished. Threading her fingers into the long hair at the back of his skull, she took a tight grip and practically yanked him off of his feet. She swung him forward, hurling him across the room to bring him down, slamming his throat into the rail across the foot of Caprica's bunk.

Still placing pressure against the back of his head, strangling him against the rail, she squatted down close to speak softly into his ear. "Hey, asshole. The next time you want to whisper sweet nothings into your girlfriend's ear...maybe come up with something that isn't liable to get her head blown off."

Levering herself to her feet by pressing down against the back of his head, she finally released him. As he gasped for air, she spun about and strode for the exit. Caprica didn't realize she had been holding her breath, until she gasped with relief, seeing the woman she had been starting to think of as a friend walking out of the room.

She looked up in time to see the camera right itself, just as the hatch slammed shut. Looking over at Head Baltar, she found him staring at the door. "Well," he said with obvious disdain, "that was rude."

* * *

.

 **Cylon Resurrection Hub - September, 2249**

Once more John Cavil focused on the arrival of additional Basestars, reinforcing this system. The local fleet had grown to thirty-two. As a precaution against the new human prowess, their forces had been consolidated more and more. Only the Colony and the Colonies were better protected, and not by much. That _should_ be enough. But, who could say for certain how much firepower would be required to take out the combined human fleets?

There was even a Resurrection Ship in the system, in case they felt the need to break off a task force. As concentrated as their forces were getting, it wasn't like they needed those ships running around all over the place. Focusing in on that ship, he considered it for a moment. In any engagement, the light craft would be easy prey for the humans. Perhaps it would be best to get it...to get them all...out of harm's way. Maybe send them back to the Colony, where they would be safe. For that matter, it would reduce the maintenance and crewing requirements and probably ease the logistical strain. Yes, that was a good idea. He'd have to see about making one of the other Models think it was their idea.

The other models. It was time for him to finally consolidate his control. Or rather, to reassert it. He brought his attention back to the Council table at which he sat, and addressed the gathering seated around it. He noted with pride the absence of the Threes. That particular play was about the pay dividends. He began in his typical, calm voice, "We've all conferred with our models, and the results are in. The Fours and the Fives have joined us Ones, and voted to assault the human fleet… to resume the war."

"Gee, what a surprise," Natalie interjected acidly. "Well, the Twos, Sixes, and Eights voted against it, so we're deadlocked.

"Ahh, hopelessly," Cavil said calmly. "I know you've been working ceaselessly to bring the Twos over to your side. And you've finally done it. Congratulations." Turning his attention to the Two at the table, he said, "Leoben, you're going to have to let me show you the other side of that equation."

"Maybe later," he replied. "We've made our vote."

"Indeed you have," he replied dourly, then turned his attention back to Natalie. "And, as it turns out, you were right. And I'm machine enough to admit that I was wrong."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, a note of caution entering her voice.

"Well, something extraordinary _has_ happened." He raised his voice, calling out. "Eight."

The Eight seated to his right just looked at him in confusion, as did Natalie and Leoben. It was Natalie who finally asked, "What's going on?" John shifted his attention to the doorway. Simon and Aaron, having been forewarned, calmly following suit. A moment later, an Eight strode out of the hall and into the room, coming to a halt at the foot of the table. "Boomer," Natalie identified her in surprise.

"I'm not going to sugar coat this," John continued. "Uh, I'll just say that, this Eight has voted to attack."

" _What?"_ Natalie all but gasped.

"You're shocked. I was shocked too."

"But no one has ever voted against their model. No one!" She looked directly to Boomer, meeting her gaze. "Is this true?!"

Boomer gave a shallow nod. "We have to be able to defend ourselves."

"No," Natalie protested, "this is unconscionable. This is wrong. She can't!" She gazed around at the gathered models, silently begging for their support. She spun on Cavil, accusingly. "You had something to do with this!"

"No, it was her decision, totally."

Natalie spun to her allies, desperately. "You cannot allow this!"

Leoben looked back in shock. "There is no law, there is no edict , there's nothing that forbids it. It's just… it's never happened before."

"Yeah," she nodded. "Try and remember you said that, when he boxes your line."

"Now don't be a sore loser," Cavil chided, taking a sip of his tea.

"If you do this, we _all_ lose," she snapped back.

"We think it's for the best," Simon interrupted her.

"For the best? Have you lost your mind? Our identities are determined by our models. Each model is unique. We belong together!" She looked around, seeking support that wasn't forthcoming. "You know this better than anyone. Mechanized copies," she said, turning back to One, "those were your very words!"

"Something has changed," he responded. "Those are _your_ very words. And I wholeheartedly agree."

Natalie tried one final argument. "The Earther's weren't our oppressors before and they aren't our enemies now. And the Colonials have suffered enough. Aren't _tens of billions_ of deaths enough?! And the Final Five! The Final Five may be _with_ the human fleet. There's a plan shaping the course of events. A _divine plan!_ The humans are part of that!"

"Not for much longer," Cavil replied.

" _You're_ not _God!"_

"No. I'm an architect. Designing our future. Planning it out. And when the humans are finished, when the fighting's all done, we can all go back to being happy, productive Cylons, building a universe we can be proud of. So let's move on, alright?" He poured himself some more tea.

Natalie realized that there was nothing more to be done. No possibility of changing anyone's mind. So, instead, she leaned in low over Cavil. "I'll pray for you," she said softly. " _I'll pray hard."_ Then standing upright, she gave them all one final glare, and strode from the room.

* * *

.

 **Battlestar Galactica, Unknown system - September, 2249**

Caprica opened her eyes once more, looking around the main hall of the Opera House. Athena stood next to her, a sleeping Hera cradled in her arms. "No Roslin?" she asked.

"Not this time," Athena responded. "At least, not yet."

Before them, six long and billowing tapestry like cloths hung down in parallel columns from the rafters and down onto the main stage. The brilliant white fabric glowed familiarly with its own internal luminescence. A pregnant humming buzz seemed to fill the air, pebbling their skin with goosebumps. Causing their heartbeats to accelerate. Walking in lockstep, the two Cylons approached slowly, cautiously taking the steps up to the stage one by one.

"What does this mean?" Athena asked.

"I don't know. It's not the same as before. No angels. No shadows. It's almost…"

"Familiar," Athena finished for her. "Or maybe familial."

"Maybe." It was Caprica who turned first and looked up at upper viewing deck. At the five figures in similarly glowing white robes standing there behind the balustrade. The robes and hoods were the same, but these figures had no wings. They were clearly human. Or, rather, they were clearly…

"The Final Five," came Athena's awed murmur from beside her. "What does it mean?"

"It means they're here, with us… in the fleet."

* * *

.

Chief Galen Tyrol, senior ranking enlisted on the Galactica, spun the locking wheel and ripped open the hatch to the large storage room, certain that he would finally find the source of that damned music. Striding through the door, he froze in wide eyed surprise, seeing Sam Anders already inside. Sam looked at him, trepidation clear on his face.

"Hey," said someone, touching him on the back. Galen stepped forward in surprise, turning about once fully within the room. Tory Foster stepped over the hatch without hesitation, purpose and determination clear in her stride. Still, her eyes darted about the room, as though seeking an escape; some way, any way, out of what was coming. Galen backed away from her, buying himself some space, and she turned to meet his eyes. "This isn't happening." She looked to Sam desperately, walking towards him. "Please tell me this isn't happening."

For his part, Sam backed away, half raising his hands; uncertain if the gesture was meant to reassure her, or tell her to keep her distance. She must have taken it for the latter, for she stopped and looked away; unwilling to see whatever might be hiding behind his eyes.

Galen snorted. "So that's it." The other two turned to hear what he had to say, not that he was paying attention, speaking more to himself. "After all this time. A switch goes off, just like that."

The hatch on the far side of the room clanked open, and a disheveled looking Colonel Tigh entered, holding on to his wife Ellen's hand and half dragging her into the room. They both froze upon seeing the prior occupants. Saul uttered a surprised "whoa," looking around. Ellen merely pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide above it.

"Ahh, no way," Sam uttered in disbelief. "I don't believe this. I'm not buying this. This is a… is a trick! Come on! We're not…" He trailed off, unwilling to say the word.

Saul was dragging a reluctant Ellen further into the room, but then all eyes were drawn to Tory. The President's aide was humming to herself, ignoring them. "Come on," she muttered under her breath, "what is it? This song..." And again she began humming to herself, a short snippet, over and over, trying to get it right.

Ellen stepped forward, joining her, already knowing the rhythm. She waved Saul forward imperiously, and the man joined them almost reluctantly. His own hum matching theirs, awkward but insistent. Sam joined in next, followed shortly by Galen.

It was the Colonel who snapped first, breaking into a shout. "Alright, that's enough godsdamnit!" He looked around at each of them, at all of them. "Deadbolt that frakking door!" he ranted, pointing at the hatch through which Tory and Galen had entered. Sam moved to comply as Saul spun about and moved to pull shut the hatch through which he and his wife had entered. Turning back he looked at each of them again. When he spoke he was no longer shouting, but his voice carried no less intensity. "Forty years in the service. Forty years. Two wars. Combat. Locked in that dungeon on the Basestar. Ellen, my gods, Ellen. What about us?" he asked turning beseeching eyes upon his spouse.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Sam muttered, shaking his head in refusal. "Not after all this. Not after the Resistance. And the Occupation. After watching my friends die one after another. For _frakking this!"_

Galen stood frozen, but Tory stepped towards Anders. "Sam," she tried to say reassuringly, but he took a step back.

Raising his hand, he pointed directly at her. "Stay the frak away from me." He swept the finger around to indicate each of them. "You all just stay the frak away from me."

"Sam," Galen said softly, "it's true. We're Cylons." He looked around at each of them. "And we have been from the start."

Finally saying it brought silence to the room. A silence into which dropped the distinctive sound of a bolt being drawn back, then rammed forward, stripping a heavy round from a magazine and slamming and locking it into the breech of a rifle. A very large rifle.

They each spun and looked up at the shadowy parapet running around the upper level of the room. An upper level made up of a balcony running all the way around the room, providing extra space for storage. A level filled with crates stowed up and out of the way. A perfect place for hiding. As someone had apparently done. That someone now stepped forward, out of the shadows. Stepped up to the railing. He was carrying a very large sniper rifle. A rifle which he casually leaned on the railing … not quite pointed directly at them, not quite aimed safely away. "One, two, three, four, five," he counted. "Looks like the gang's all here."

They looked up at him in shock. It was Colonel Tigh who found his voice first. "I know you. You're that Marine from the Pegasus. You were part of the raid on the Basestar. Sergeant…." Tigh flogged his memory, trying to come up with the name. "Sergeant Leo Iglesia."

"That's the name on my dogtags," he replied.

"What the frak are you doing under arms and skulking around here? For that matter, what the frak are you doing here at all? I didn't see a transfer order bringing you to the Galactica. You're tight with Athena, but there's no current visitor pass for you either. That sounds like you just might be AWOL. Better get back to your post Marine, and hope I forget all about this."

Iglesia actually laughed. "You've got to be kidding me. You're actually trying to intimidate me with your authority? _Really?_ Standing here surrounded by the rest of the Final Five? Not the smartest move. But, tell you what, I'll answer your questions. Why am I under arms? Well...I happen to like this rifle. This sniper rifle and I...we've got a purpose. We're gonna kill a mother frakkin' Cylon."

Saul stepped rapidly in front of Ellen. The others looked ready to bolt. "I wouldn't," Iglesia warned casually. "You're going to want to stick around for this. And Saul? You should know that a round from this gun would go right through you and Ellen both. So if my plan is to kill you all, then stepping in front of your wife...it only makes my job easier." He gave the rifle a little wiggle, reminding them all of its presence. Not that any of them had forgotten for a single second. He looked each of them over, making sure they weren't about to run. Satisfied, he resumed, "As for why I'm here… Well, I imagine for the same reason you are. I'm trying to find the source of that Goddamned music."


	28. Chapter 26 - Revelations and Returns

**Chapter 26 - Revelations and Returns**

.  
 **Battlestar Galactica, Unknown System - September, 2249**

The Final Five Cylons stared upwards in shock at the looming form of Sergeant Leo Iglesia. It was Tory who found her voice first. "Wait. What did you say?"

"I just said a lot of things, doll. Which part did you miss?"

"The last part," Sam cut in. "You're hearing the music?"

"Yeah, I just said that." He stood up, lifting the large rifle off of the railing to lean it back against his shoulder. "Are you assholes even listening?"

"You're a Cylon?" Tyrol asked. "But you can't be a Cylon. You just confirmed that _we're_ the Final Five. And that Six we've got locked up told us that we've already seen all of the other models." He paused, considering. "Are you a Cylon?"

" _I,"_ Iglesia said with emphasis, "am a mother frakking ghost."

"What in the _frak_ is that supposed to mean?" Saul demanded.

"It means that Cavil thinks I'm dead, and I intend for it to stay that way. Right up to the moment I ventilate his brain."

"Won't he just resurrect?" Tory asked.

"Just means I get to experience that glorious moment over and over again."

Ellen had had enough. "Stop it!" she snapped, near hysterical. "Do you think this is funny? Do you think this is _normal?!_ You know who we are. _What_ we are. Just who and what are you?"

"Whoa. Take it easy, Mom."

Ellen shot him a withering stare. "Don't tell me to take it easy. You don't know what it's been like. And I am _not_ your…"

"Mother?" Iglesia overrode her. "Yeah, you are. Or, at least, you're the closest thing that I'll ever have."

"What the frak is _that_ supposed to mean?" Saul demanded angrily.

The Sergeant sighed. Then, leaning his rifle against a nearby crate, he climbed up and sat on the top railing, his legs dangling down towards them. "My name's not Leo Iglesia. At least, not originally. You all named me Daniel."

There was silence for a long moment. "What do you mean, _we_ named you?" Tyrol asked.

"Just what I said. Get comfortable. It's a long story. And I don't have all of the answers. But I'll tell you what I can. And given that none of you seem to remember me, I imagine that's a hell of a lot more than you know now."

No one chose to sit down, though Sam did lean up against the nearest bulkhead. They all stared at the Marine expectantly.

"Well, beginning from the very beginning...at least, as far back as I have information for...the Cylons were created by Man. They rebelled. And they evolved. And eventually they looked and felt human."

"We know all this," Saul grumbled. "What we need to know about is _us._ How and why were we created. How the _frak_ is it possible that we're godsdamned Cylons?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you do know the story. Except I'm not talking about a few decades ago. I'm talking about a few millennia ago, on Kobol. All of this has happened before. Hell, maybe all of it will happen again. I don't know. But those Cylons and those humans, all those centuries ago, managed to fall into an uneasy peace. And then something changed. Thirteen Tribes left Kobol. I don't know exactly why. Maybe there was a disaster of some sort. Maybe it was religious. Hell, maybe they all just went nuts. But twelve of the tribes made their way to the Cyrannus star system. Founding the Twelve Colonies. The other tribe, the Thirteenth Tribe, made their way to Earth, and settled there. You see, they didn't go with the other Tribes, because the Thirteenth Tribe was all Cylons."

"And I know you're lying already," Saul interjected. "Did you miss that we're travelling with millions of people from Earth already? We checked. They're _not_ frakking Cylons."

"And they're not from Earth. Or rather, not the _same_ Earth. Can't be. Your Earth wouldn't have recovered yet. Even if there were survivors, they wouldn't have had the capacity to build that fleet."

"What the frak are you talking about?"

"Take it easy, Pops…."

"That's Colonel to you," Saul snarled.

"Fine. Take it easy, _Colonel._ Just let me finish. I'll answer most of your questions, and those I don't...I probably don't have the answer to anyway." He looked around to see if anyone else had any objections. When none were forthcoming, he continued. "So, the ancient Cylons made their way from Kobol to Earth. Slower than light ships, by the way. The jump drive hadn't been invented yet. And as I said, not the same Earth. Which shouldn't surprise anyone, really. The word just means ground or soil. If you've only got one habitable planet in your system, what else would you call it?"

"Focus, Daniel," Ellen said kindly, having regained her composure.

"Right, well, these ancient Cylons, they were just like you...just like us. Basically human. Hundreds, maybe thousands of different models. And then they discovered they could procreate like humans. Must have come as a hell of a shock to them. Bunch of horny Cylons, knockin' boots, when all of a sudden they start shootin' out kids. But it wasn't like booting up an existing model. A baby...well, I don't have to tell you that a kid combines traits from both of the parents. Despite all of the models they already had, the idea of a potentially infinite variety of Cylons was intoxicating to them. Before you knew it, everyone was doin' it. Literally."

"Don't be crude," Tory snapped.

"Nature's a crude thing, toots. Anyway, somehow all of that unlimited procreation shut down Resurrection. The organic memory transfer that the Cylons had brought with them from Kobol….just stopped working. Or hell, maybe it fell out of use, I didn't always listen the best when you guys would talk about this shit. But, suffice it to say, our people started having babies and stopped living forever via download. They even stopped bringing new life to existing models. And so the Cylons lived a very human like lifestyle for the next few centuries. Maybe even a millenia. Most even forgot that Resurrection had been a thing. Until the five of you reinvented it. Until the war."

"War? What war?" Saul asked sharply.

"Maybe it was living that human lifestyle, or maybe it was always the way, but Cylons had plenty of human traits. Like self destructiveness. Like factionalism. Cylon or human, put any more than two people in a room, and they'll find a way to divide into teams. Human vs Cylon. Sagittaron vs Caprican. Old vs young. Red vs Blue. Hell, it doesn't matter. The point is, people find a way to not be unified. And that's just one step from killing each other. So there were separate nations, wars over the centuries, and eventually one of those wars went full on nuclear exchange, and wiped everyone out.

"But, hell, I'm getting ahead of myself. You all worked in the same research facility. Colonel, you and Ellen, you were married then too." He nodded to Galen and Tory. "You two lived together."

"What," Tyrol asked in surprise, "like roommates?"

"No. You were madly in love. You were planning on getting married." Tyrol began to chuckle, glancing at Tory. She glared back, then shifted the glare to Iglesia. He took that as permission to continue. "Mo...Ellen, it was your father who ran the research facility, and he had pulled together all of the available information on Resurrection. He initiated the project to get it running again. A project all of you worked on.

"And then the political situation went right down the shitter, and extinction loomed. Your work kicked into high gear. You thought it might be your only hope for survival, and you were right. You all worked night and day to rebuild it. Galen, I'm told your work was amazing. Of course, _you_ told me that, so who the frak knows? But it was Ellen….Ellen, you made the intuitive leap that brought the system back online. And it was you who convinced your father to undergo the massive expense of getting the system fully operational...and getting a ship into orbit to place it on.

"You were all on the surface when the nukes flew. And then you were all on the ship, the first Cylons to resurrect in centuries. You'd planned to have hundreds of your fellow workers and researchers set up to resurrect. But you ran out of time. Grandpop was among the casualties."

"Don't call him that," Ellen snapped.

"What, a dead man, centuries gone, who you don't even have any memories of? Why the frak not?"

Saul wrapped his arms around his wife, comforting her, then looked up at Iglesia. "So why did we go to the Twelve Colonies?"

"You had a ship designed to carry a thousand in search of a new home. Your own little one ship Exodus fleet. But five Cylons...that wasn't enough for a viable population. And just the five of you resurrecting into new bodies for eternity apparently didn't hold much appeal. And I can see why. We've been here, what, fifteen minutes? And I already can't wait to get the hell away from you."

"Nice," Sam chastised.

"Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em. Anyway, once again it was Ellen who recalled the other twelve tribes. Who realized that you all needed to find the other tribes and warn them. You understood that they would continue to create artificial life, and you wanted to tell those humans to treat them well and keep them close. But, by the time you got to the Colonies, they were already at war with the Centurions. It happened again."

"But if this planet of Cylons was out there," Tory wanted to know, "and they knew where the Twelve Colonies were, why was there never any contact? Where weren't we bumping into them? Why didn't they come to support the Colonial Cylons?"

"Remember I said that the Cylons hadn't invented jump drives before settling Earth? Well, they actually _never_ developed jump drives. Your ship was subluminal. The holocaust on Earth took place _thousands_ of years ago...or, well….centuries at least. You travelled to the colonies at relativistic, but slower than light speeds. Time slowed down for you. While centuries or millenia passed in the larger universe, you barely aged. But when you got here, you had a choice of who to contact...man or machine. But, despite being flesh and blood...you were Cylons...and so were the Centurions. So you made your choice.

"The Centurions were already trying to make flesh bodies. They had created Hybrids, manufactured organic replicas of a human that looked barely better than corpses and could be plugged into their ships. Nothing that could live on its own. So you made them a deal. They stop the war, and you would help them. You developed the eight humanoid models, and you gave them Resurrection."

"Eight models?" Tory asked. "I thought there were only seven? Are we missing someone?"

"He's talking about himself," Saul responded. "This actually came up in one of the interrogations of that Six...Caprica. Russki got it out of her. A failed model named Daniel. Model Seven, I think."

" _Don't say that,"_ Iglesia snapped. "I didn't fail. I was poisoned. Sabotaged. By that motherfrakker, John." He noticed Ellen scowl at that. "Yeah, I know. He's a real piece of work, isn't he, your John?"

"I assume you mean the Brother Cavils, the Ones?" Ellen asked. "They aren't _my_ John."

"But that's what you always called him, Mommy dear. _Your_ John. He was your first. You wanted all of the rest of us to be nice to him. To take care of and protect him. To watch out for his feelings. I guess somebody should have been protecting all of us from _him."_

Galen tried to direct the conversation someplace less emotionally charged. "So Cavil was the first one we made? I guess that makes sense, given he's model One."

"Oh he was the first, alright. But he wasn't One. That's another of his lies. Another lever he uses to control everyone. He didn't have a model number. He was just the prototype. Haven't you all noticed how he's not as strong or durable as the other Cylons? As young? As good looking? You used him to perfect the process. You knew there were bound to be mistakes, and he was your practice run. Your little John. You treasured him, and he helped you build the others. The others that were superior in almost every way. The others that would have a future that he didn't. The others that would get to have Models and babies and everything they could ever want that _he_ was never meant to have. And you frakkin' assholes thought he would be _satisfied_ with that? Why? Because you told him he had the _honor_ of being the trial run? Morons."

"But if Cavil's not model One," Tory wanted to know, "then who is?"

"I am. Or I was, until that prick stole it from me, poisoned my line, and tried to kill me off. Damned near succeeded, to. But it's me. I'm the One. The Alpha."

"So then there _were_ only seven models?" Tory pressed, confused.

"Oh, no, there were eight models alright. Four male lines, and four female lines. The Centurions and you five definitely agreed on one point. You didn't just want a series of organic copies running around. That was just supposed to be the beginning. You wanted what the humans had. What the Cylons on Earth had. Individuality. Endless variety through procreation. A bunch of horny Cylons runnin' around, doin' what horny Cylons do.

"And so, after John, you made four male-female pairings. Each pair was supposed to be perfect for each other. Each one perfectly attractive to their partner, the perfect mate. You tried to engineer love into the system. Tory, you and Ellen didn't want the females to end up as nothing more than baby making machines, so you tried to ensure they had loving partners. I'm not sure if you intended to make all Cylons infertile outside of a loving relationship, if that came from Earth with you, or if it was just a happy accident, but it was pretty much the only thing which prevented the maternal slavery you were afraid of. Because, as it turned out, only one of your 'perfect loving pairs' actually fell in love. The rest could barely tolerate each other. Hell of start to the perfect Cylon society.

"You know, I've heard from members of Sam's freedom fighters that the Cylons were playing around with fertility…. trying to solve their breeding problem. Looking into human fertility medicines and procedures. Bizarre surgeries. I could have told them it wouldn't work. Human women can still get knocked up, even without a loving mate. It was never a problem they've had to solve, so their medicine was bound to fail. It was aimed at the wrong obstacles. If you ask me, I'd bet lots of chocolate would do the trick."

"So, what," Tory asked, "you want us to fix the Cylon reproductivity issue?"

" _Frak no!_ You all built me with the most effective prophylactic this side of abstinence. Best thing you ever did for me. If I tried to fix that, I'd never be able to look the other Marines in the eye again. Especially Tucker."

Clearly they were all getting confused and off topic, and Iglesia's ramblings weren't helping things, but Galen tried valiantly to get the conversation flowing again, to pull some sense out of this flood of information. "So, we didn't think it was a bad idea? Building Cylons after we'd already seen the cycle?"

"The Centurions had a single loving God. Ellen decided that changed everything. If the Cylons embraced love and mercy then the cycle of violence could end."

"A single God? Like one, true God?"

"Yep, that's pretty much what we believe."

"And that came from the Centurions?"

"Yeah. Well, maybe. There were some hints that the first Centurion might have gained self awareness when some Colonial figured out a rudimentary organic memory transfer device and intentionally or accidentally uploaded himself. There were indications that might have been the case, that maybe the religion came from him. You were looking into it when John staged his coup.

"John rejected mercy. Rejected love. He had a twisted idea of morality, but more than anything else, he was a twisted little boy whose parents showed him the wonders and possibilities of the future, and then told him they weren't for him. So he turned on the five of you. He lured you into an airtight compartment, and then sealed it and took the Oxygen offline."

"He suffocated us? Killed us?" Saul asked, unsurprised.

"Yeah."

"So, when we downloaded into new bodies…?" Tory inquired.

"He blocked your access to your existing memories."

"And implanted us with false ones," Galen cut in.

"Yes."

"Set us up like a Boomer. Memories that we thought were real."

"Memories and prepared lives designed to make you miserable. He loaded you up with all kinds of goodies like alcoholism and infidelity and…. well, they're _your_ lives. I'm pretty sure you know the list. He boxed you for a while, and then started dropping you off into the Colonies. Into your new lives. He introduced Saul first, not long after the war. And then Ellen. The rest of you followed when he felt the time was right. Killing you fools was his first step along the path to becoming the tin pot dictator we all know and despise."

Ellen stepped forward, a confused look on her fast. "What happened to you, Daniel? I think...I remember...you were an artist? So sensitive to the world. We were...we were very close. Weren't we?" The others looked at her in surprise, shocked that she might be regaining memories of a previous life.

If he was surprised, Iglesia didn't let on. "Yeah. We were. But John happened. He was jealous of everything I had. Being One. Your attention. He assumed I was your favorite, though I think it might actually have been him. You designed him after your father. And of course there was Allison. And after what he did to you lot, there was no going back. So after he moved on you, he moved on us. There was only one of each of us walking around at that point. Mass production hadn't begun yet. So he gathered us all together. Told us that the Five wanted to speak with us. Instead, he sent in a dozen Centurions he had taken control of. Killed us all. Then he started playing with our memories. All except me and Allison."

"Who's Allison?" Ellen asked kindly, clearly already knowing at least part of the answer.

"Allison was the real model Seven. She was my partner. _We_ were your success. The only pair of Cylons to fall in love. And of course, that was something else John wanted. He didn't love her. But he convinced himself that he did. So when we were all dead, he let her resurrect first. And he proposed to her….offered to let her be the queen to his king. She laughed in his face. Told him he wasn't man enough for her. He didn't take it well."

"What did he do to her?" Tory asked, looking sick.

"He never let her out of that resurrection tub. He raped her mind. Stole her memories and consciousness. Killed her free will and connection to reality. Took away her model designation. Eliminated any memory of her from the rest of the Cylons. Then he hooked her up to his machines. Saul, Ellen, Tory….you may have met her while you were being held on the Basestar. They call her the Hybrid now.

"That wasn't his final degradation of her either. If you've ever seen what happens to her when a ship jumps, you know what I mean. She told him he wasn't man enough for her? Now he can get her off just by saying 'jump.' Just one more way for him to spit on her and me. To tell himself that _he_ was the superior one. Then he resurrected me just long enough to tell me all of this. To gut me with his dominance of the Cylons and what he had done to Allison and everyone else. And then he killed me. Again. After that, he contaminated the amniotic fluid in which all of my copies were maturing. Then he corrupted my genetic formula and all of the backed up memory files. And that was it for me. That's how I became a ghost."

"Then how are you here? How do you know all of this?" Sam asked in confusion.

"I'm not sure exactly. I've got to believe it was Allison. That some part of her hung on long enough to interface with the computers and save one of my copies. To download my memories before they were destroyed and wake me up. All I know is that I resurrected in a tank, and was met by a single Centurion, who got me off of the ship and to the Colonies. I assume it wasn't long afterwards that he expanded his coup, and seized control from the Centurions."

"So it's possible all of this...your entire life….was just another torture, designed by Cavil?" Tyrol hypothesized.

"Possible, but I don't think so. It doesn't feel right. Even Cavil isn't creative enough to make me feel this shitty. And he certainly wouldn't leave me around with my memories intact to come after him." He looked at Ellen. "You asked what happened to your little artist? John killed him. Any softness that was left I had the Marines burn out of me. My sole focus now is to kill that bastard if possible, or to at least frak up his plans if not. And you five are gonna help me." He looked at his watch. "We've been here too long. I need to get back to the Pegasus, and you all need to get back to your jobs."

"What?" Tory asked in surprise. "But what about the music?"

"What about it?"

"Where the frak is it coming from? Why are we the only ones who can hear it?"

"How the hell should I know? If I knew that, would I have been out looking for it? Maybe it's some distress call you cooked into all of our heads. Maybe it was another final assist from Allison, trying to bring us together. Frak, maybe God's just got a twisted sense of humor. It doesn't matter. It's time to leave."

"You want us to go back to work?" Galen cut int. "Just like that? Like nothing's happened?"

"Yeah, I do. Go back to your lives. Enjoy them if you can. And unless you have a particular desire to suck vacuum, don't say anything to _anyone."_

* * *

.

Before leaving the Galactica, Iglesia had one more stop to make. He made his way down one corridor after another, to a more secure section of the ship. To the prisoner. Turning a final corner, he came face to face with her guard. Just one. They had relaxed security a bit, at the President's order. He wasn't sure just why the President would do that, but he suspected something nefarious. He _always_ suspected something nefarious.

"Gunny," the young Marine nodded to him, glancing up with curiosity.

"I was told you'd been on duty for a few hours. Your relief might be delayed. Go grab some chow, hit the head, but be back in no more than twenty. I'll keep an eye on things for you."

Despite the fact that Iglesia wasn't in his chain of command, the Private didn't argue. He wasn't about to turn down a chance to get some food, especially if he might be stuck babysitting for who knew how many additional hours. Leo watched him hustle off, then waited an extra minute to be certain he was gone. Then reaching over to the security console, he switched off the cameras in the room.

Undogging the hatch, he stepped through. The Six, Caprica, was sitting cross legged in her bunk, reading some kind of book. She looked up at him in surprise, but with no hint of fear.

That changed with what happened next. "We don't have much time. I have a present for you," he said shortly, and began undoing his belt.

She bolted to her feet, staring at him in fear as he slid his belt out of his belt loops and out from around his waist in one smooth motion. And then she attacked. Striding forward on those long legs with shocking speed and grace, she drove a palm heel strike up towards his jaw. A strike that would stagger most any human… even kill some.

He used the hand holding the belt to sweep aside her attack with casual ease then, stepping forward himself, he placed his other hand against her sternum and shoved.

Caprica half flew and half stumbled backwards across the room, barely managing to keep her legs under her. Until her calves contacted the edge of her bunk, and she went tumbling over it and sprawling to the floor. Looking up, she saw the imposing Marine, clearly in excellent shape though beginning to get a bit thick about the middle, looming over her. Scrambling with her hands and feet, she pushed herself backwards to huddle against the bulkhead.  
"Don't flatter yourself, sister. I'm not here for that kind of fun. I really do have a gift for you." So saying, he tossed his belt into her lap.

She looked up at him in confusion. "What is this for? Who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter. What does matter is that the Final Five are here, in this fleet. Someone ought to let the rest of the Cylons know, don't you think? As for the belt...I'm sure you'll figure it out.

* * *

.

 **Colonial One, Unknown System - September, 2249**

President Roslin sat between Admiral and Commander Adama, as their visitors were escorted into the cabin by her security detail. They had each left their respective XOs in charge of their Battlestars, knowing that this meeting was likely to be sensitive. For her own part, Laura very much doubted she would be hearing good news.

Their visitors, Commodore Sheridan and Colonel Garibaldi, soon proved her pessimism prescient. "No doubt about it," Garibaldi said, dropping a stack of printed images onto her desk. "The Cylons are tracking us. We left Commander Locarno behind to be verify. Seven hours after our fleets left the last system, these showed up."

Laura leaned forward and picked up the printouts. They depicted a long range image of a quartet of Basestars. She passed the pictures to the Admiral. "If I understand correctly, four Basestars is too great a concentration for this to have been a spread out search force, getting lucky."

"That's our read," Sheridan confirmed. "The good news ...well, potentially good news anyway, is that it took those seven hours for them to arrive. Which could mean that they couldn't track us through hyperspace...that they didn't know where we were until we reverted to real space."

"Or," Garibaldi countered, "it could just mean that it took them that long to assemble a task force, or that they are just being cautious and staying a few hours behind us. We shouldn't assume without evidence."

"Either way," the Commodore continued, "we need to figure out for certain how they're tracking us."

"The Six said that they were tracking the Tylium ship," Lee noted.

"If I recall the report correctly," Michael countered, "she said that they had detected some kind of radiation coming from it. She was speculating that was how they were tracking us. I'd like to ask her a few questions myself. Maybe she can provide a few more details that could help to clarify the situation."

"Unfortunately," Admiral Adama broke in, drawing all eyes, "that won't be possible. The prisoner committed suicide late last night, hanging herself in the dark, when the Marine on guard wouldn't notice."

"How in the hell did she manage that," Garibaldi queried. "Don't you restrict your prisoners from materials that could be used for weapons or self harm?"

"Yes," Laura said dryly. "But somehow she managed to get ahold of a standard issue Marine belt. She used that as a noose."

"Ahh." Garibaldi chuckled. "Two guesses as to how she got _that."_

"I don't have to guess, Colonel Garibaldi," Roslin said acidly. "I'm sure your imagination is more than sufficient for the rest of us." The whelp actually had the audacity to chuckle.

"I'm just not sure how the Cylons could possibly be tracking a radiation signature," Sheridan cut in, trying to cover Garibaldi's gaffe by bringing the conversation back on topic. "In order to track us past a jump, that radiation would need to be FTL...which means Tachyons. And we haven't seen anything in Colonial _or_ Cylon tech that uses Tachyons. For that matter, we've had our sensors sweep your Tylium refinery. They haven't detected anything beyond standard background levels of Tachyon emissions."

"But if Cylon resurrection works the way they say it does," Michael cut back in, "then that pretty much requires an FTL system. Maybe it's some odd flavor of Tachyons that we don't normally scan for. Or maybe it's an entirely different variety of FTL particle. We need to get the eggheads to broaden their search."

"We can't wait on scientific discovery," Laura said firmly, drawing everyone's attention. We need to confirm that the Cylons are tracking the Tylium ship."

"What did you have in mind?" Sheridan asked.

"A test. We detach the Tylium refinery from the fleet. If the Cylons chase down the Tylium ship, we know that's what they're tracking. If they follow the fleet instead, then we have to look elsewhere."

"That ship is crucial to the continued operation of nearly all Colonial vessels," Bill warned. "We can't afford to lose it."

"So we don't send it out alone. It goes out with an escort, and then jumps back to meet the fleet at a prearranged location the moment it catches sight of the Cylons."

"That could work," Garibaldi nodded. "In fact, maybe we could detach the Nova with it. Knock out a few more Baseships. Really give those Terminators a black eye."

Adama shook his head. "In order to be certain it's the Tylium ship they're tracking, the ship will have to move to a location the rest of the fleet hasn't passed through. The requires Colonial jump drives, so I'm afraid the Nova, or any other Earth Force vessel, isn't capable of doing this job. Besides, what if they're not tracking the Tylium ship? For that matter, what if this is their plan? To split the fleet. To have the hardest hitting ship separate itself, and then they jump in an overwhelming force on the remainder of the fleet."

"You really can come up with the worst case scenario," Garibaldi noted. "I approve."

"Then we're agreed. I'll take the Galactica as escort, and we'll jump off to a nearby star system, somewhere not on this hyperspace trail."

"Admiral," Lee cut in. "If four Basestars is the chase force...that's a pretty bad correlation of forces for the Galactica to face if anything goes wrong. I'd be more comfortable if the task force had….a bit more firepower."

"We can't keep swapping ships, Commander," Bill groused. "The Galactica's my ship. The old girl's liable to think I'm stepping out on her."

"Well we can't have that," Apollo smiled. "But I wasn't suggesting a swap. I was asking you to let me run the mission. The Pegasus has the necessary combat capacity, and the mission is straightforward enough that it doesn't require the Admiral's personal attention. You can delegate this job. And keep Galactica out of a fight she doesn't need to endure."

"Bucket and the Beast, huh?" Garibaldi asked with a grin.

A grin which quickly fizzled when Admiral Adama pinned him with an outraged glare. Without a word, Bill switched his gaze back to his only surviving son. "Alright, Commander. The mission is yours. Get it done, then get home safe."

* * *

.

 **Battlestar Pegasus, Unknown System - September, 2249**

"Time," Commander Lee Adama said quietly, perusing the reports filing in from various departments across the ship.

Lieutenant Ivers, the on duty Tactical Officer, glanced over. "We've been in system three hours and forty-two minutes, Commander."

"Well, only twenty hours and eighteen minutes to go, and we can jump out of here. Assuming this is all a bust, and the Cylons don't put in a showing, of course."

"Yes, Sir. But, if the Cylons hold true to form, it'll be at least another three hou.."

"Contact!" The call rag out across the CIC, electrifying the room like a live wire. The DRADIS display updated, showing not one, but four unknown contacts. Less than a handful of seconds later, the display updated again, designating all four contacts as Basestars.

"Commander," Ivers noted, "the enemy jumped in at medium range. They are accelerating to intercept, and have already begun launching Raiders. They will be in missile range in just over a minute."

"Looks like we've overstayed our welcome," Apollo noted. "Confirm the Hitei Kan's jump drive is spooled up, then order them to jump to the designated coordinates." He preferred to show the ship and her crew the respect of using its proper name, but almost no one else referred to the vessel as anything but 'the refueling ship' or 'the Tylium refinery.' Afterall, it was the only one with the fleet that was still functional, since those idiots from Demand Peace has set off a bomb on the Daru Mozu. The damage to the hull had eventually been repaired, but the damage to the Tylium processing machinery was harder to fix. The internal workings had become dangerously unstable, and their use discontinued lest they lead to a runaway chain reaction and a Tylium explosion. Worse than simply destroying the vessel, such an event would cause the loss of an unacceptable portion of their Tylium supply.

All of which meant that, when Caprica had said the Cylons might be tracking the Tylium refinery, there was really no question as to which ship she meant. And, now that they had confirmed the Cylons were indeed tracking it, it was time to get gone. "Captain Nordson reports jump drive spooled up," Ivers reported. "Jumping in three, two, one, mark."

The display remained unchanged. "Lieutenant," Lee growled, "why is that ship still on my screens."

"A moment, Sir." He hustled over to the Comms team, where a hushed but urgent conversation took place. Iver straightened and turned back to Apollo. "Commander, the Hitei Kan reports that they had a problem with the sync points and the jump coordinates. They say they should be able to spin up the drive again in two minutes, three at the most."

"We don't have that long," Lee said, almost calmly. He stood in silence for a handful of seconds, eyes darting across the displays, thinking madly. "Tell them to run for it. Max out their engines until they can get their drive spooled up. Advise them to jump the second they're ready." Raising his voice he called out, "Launch all Vipers! Get the Marines armed up. We might be facing boarders." Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Heading change! Bring us about and point us right at the lead Basestar. All guns to bear on lead ship. Max thrust. Let's see if we can't even the odds a bit and buy some time."

The move seemed to catch the small Cylon fleet by surprise. They hadn't even begun firing their missiles when the Pegasus opened up with all guns. By the time the first missile made it through the Pegasus's flak shell and impacted on the armor belt, the lead Basestar was already a twisted, burning wreck. And then something critical gave way, and the whole ship detonated like a fireworks display.  
The three remaining Basestars simply maneuvered around the flotsam and kept coming, attempting to surround the embattled Pegasus.

The bigger danger was the Raiders. They were already well within the flak envelope and firing missiles into the hull at point blank range. Lee grabbed desperately onto the plotting table as the entire ship heaved around him, rocked by a particularly violent strike. "Where the frak is my Viper coverage?" he shouted.

Ivers glanced up from the damage control station, where he had been interfacing with the station officer. "The last Viper just launched, Commander, but they didn't have time to form up before the Raiders were on us. Everyone's outnumbered and out of position. They're doing their best just to stay alive. Should we launch Raptors? They could put some pressure on the Basestars, maybe take some of the heat off of our Vipers."

"They wouldn't last ten seconds out there in this mess."Lee said, shaking his head. He grabbed up the handset and keyed an active connection. "Stinger, Pegasus actual. What's your status?"

The tinny voice of the Pegasus's CAG crackled through the handset. "Pegasus, Stinger. I've got frakkin' toasters all over me. I'm trying to pull our people into formation, but there's just too many Raiders. Too many attack vectors."

Lee tried to make some sense out of the madness that was the DRADIS display as the Pegasus shuddered again under another heavy strike, and a fresh set of alarms blared. "The Raiders are starting to concentrate behind us, trying to shoot our engines out. Pull together anyone you can and concentrate on defending the aft quarter. If we go dead in space we're dead period. Let the flak batteries protect the rest of the ship."

"Aye, Commander," Taylor signed out. Lee didn't really like the man. The memory of having a gun stuck in your face would tend to do that. For that matter, he supposed that was why Saul was still mostly cold to him. But Lee did know that Stinger was a hell of a pilot, and an even better CAG. If anyone could pull together a viable defense around the Pegasus, it would be him.

And then things got worse. "Commander," Ivers called out, "I'm reading a couple of squadrons of Raiders breaking off, heading for the refinery ship."

Lee calmly picked up the handset again. "Stinger, Pegasus actual."

"Go ahead, Pegasus, things just lightened up a bit." He grunted through what was clearly a hard maneuver. The sound of his autocannon firing came through clearly. "We might actually survive this."

"Stinger, the Cylons just sent an attack force to take out the Hitei Kan. You are ordered to discontinue defense of the Pegasus. Take all Viper and intercept and destroy that attack. Confirm." The order brought silence from both Stinger and the crew in the CIC. It was quite possibly a death sentence for the entire ship.  
Not getting a response from Stinger, Lee pressed. "That's an order, Stinger. We _can not_ lose that refinery. Take your Viper and block that attack. _Confirm!"_

"Confirmed," came the response, followed by the Pegasus shaking from yet another powerful strike. Lee fought his ship for what felt like a couple of hours, but was probably only a couple of minutes. Hell, maybe no more than thirty seconds. And then disaster struck.

"Commander," Ivers called out stridently. "Stinger reports that the Hitei Kan just took a Cylon missile, directly amidships. Hitei Kan reports...Tylium fire underway in main hold."

"Order them to evacuate the atmosphere from the hold," Lee called urgently.

"The missile took care of that, Commander. The Tylium is burning anyway."

Lee paused for a moment. _Disaster._ Calmly, despite the ship groaning around him from repeated hits, he ordered, "Dump the hold." In the background, he heard the Damage Control officer shouting that they were losing power to the FTL drive.

"Commander, that's our entire supply of refined Tylium. We need that to…."

"We need that refinery ship, as well. And if they don't dump the Tylium before it blows, we'll lose both. Dump it, that's an order."

Ivers relayed the order. Turning back after another few moments, he reported, "All Tylium in the hold has been flushed into space." Glancing back at his boards, he continued, "Hitei Kan has successfully jumped away."

"Good. Get our Vipers back. Let's see if we're still intact enough to do the same."

* * *

.

 **Battlestar Galactica, Unknown System - September, 2249**

"Action Stations! Action Stations! Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill." The voice of Admiral William Adama pierced through the warbling drone of the alarms, echoing throughout the corridors of the Galactica. Side by side, Starbuck and Ruski were sprinting for the hangars.

"What's happening?" Russki wanted to know.

"You're the psychic, not me," Starbuck responded.

"I'm not psychic. Even if I am a Russian hag."

"Well then, neither of us is going to know until we get our butts into the cockpit. The faster we get into space, the faster someone will radio us the details."

They arrived at the hangars, joining a stream of other pilots. Starbuck's Viper was already being moved into the launch tube, Chief Tyrol himself performing final flight checks. "Starbuck, you're good to go," he said, crouching under her bird to remove the safety locks from her weapons. From long habit she still did a quick visual inspection of the craft, ensuring herself that he hadn't missed anything. Then she rapidly mounted the pilot's ladder and swung down into the cockpit. A couple of seconds later, Tyrol was at the top of the ladder to perform the final hand off. "Everything checks out. Engines and weapons are hot. You set?"

"I'm good, Chief. You got any idea what's going on?"

"Whatever it is, it's the real deal. The brass is shittin' a brick. Watch your ass." He tapped twice on the top of the bird to let the crew know that they were good to go, then dropped down the ladder and wheeled it out of the way as the canopy lowered into place. The crew was already pushing her craft the rest of the way into the tube. She felt the catapult lock into her forward strut. She gave the appropriate verbal and visual confirmation to the catapult launch officer, then clenched. She was still slammed back into her seat roughly, vision tunnelling, as the catapult dragged her down the tube and hurled her out into space at over nine Gs.

She immediately began scanning around for the rest of the squadron, ensuring that they all got off the deck in good order. Seconds later, Russki's now signature banshee holler blared over the radio, as her new wingman launched. Kara formed up the squadron, and began to scan the heavens while they waited for an update.

It wasn't long in coming. Not that it was particularly informative. "Galactica, actual, to all squadrons. We've got three enemy ships and a fighter launch. You are to form up defensive ranks aft of the fleet and await further instructions."

"Galactica, Starbuck. Say again. You don't want us to intercept the enemy?"

"Negative Starbuck. This is a defense plan worked out with Commodore Sheridan. We are to remain defensive while the Earth Force ships and fighters move to intercept. Our Viper shell is thin enough with the Pegasus away. Just form up and await further orders. Galactica out."

"Why did we even bother launching?" Kat griped. "They're just gonna wipe out the toasters with those big guns again."

"Well, we can enjoy the lightshow," Duck, her wingman, responded with anticipation.

It was then that the squadron, moving into position to the rear of the fleet, caught site of the enemy. "Oh frag..." Russki hissed. They weren't Basestars. They were like nothing Kara had ever seen before. Easily the size of a small Battlestar, Valkyrie class maybe, it was bluish in color with an odd ribbed and finned shape, like some kind of weird sea life. And with those fins it was just as tall as it was long. "We're in trouble, boss," Russki continued. "Those are Minbari ships. Scouts rather than capital classes, thank God. Leshath class, I think. Still, they're going to have put eighteen fighters into space, and that's going to mean a lot of casualties. Those ships will hit damned hard for scouts as well. We're in trouble," she repeated.

"Eighteen fighters?" Kat asked. "What are you worried about? We have them outnumbered almost ten to one."

"Look," Russki said in response. All eyes were drawn to the far distance, where the Minbari had opened fire, and the Lexington and Nova had followed suit. The Minbari scout ships were dancing around the Nova's heavy guns, and laying down a murderous return fire. The Lexington, for her part, was fighting in conjunction with all of the Starfury squadrons, using her point defense guns to try to swat down the enemy fighters, almost indistinguishable pinpricks at this distance. Kara's practiced eye could already tell that both vessels were showing nowhere near the level of accuracy...or confidence...that they had against the Cylons.

"I'm not picking up those ships on my scope," Duck mused.

"It was in your security briefing," Starbuck replied distractedly. "The Minbari have advanced stealth capabilities. They give almost no return to sensors...and you can't trust any return you _do_ get." Recently, the two fleets had settled on communicating using Earth Force frequencies, so that the two forces could more easily stay in contact and minimize the chaos of battle. Kara wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse, as she got to listen in on the battle taking place just a short distance away. Got to listen as three Starfurys died in rapid succession. Even got to listen to Hot Dog freaking out as he tried to pilot his new fighter against an unfamiliar foe.

A new voice broke in on her musings. "All Galactica Vipers, this is the Midway. A small group of enemy fighters has broken off from the main force. Coming your way!"

"People," Russki commed to the squadron. "Don't bother with guns. The little pea-shooters these things are armed with won't crack a Nial. Go with missiles."

"I guess it's a good thing the Earthers replenished our stocks, and figured out how to make their missiles work on our mounts," Duck responded. "A month ago we'd have been out with mostly bare wings. But how the hell are we supposed to hit those things if they don't show on our scanners and we can't lock 'em up?"

"Mark-one eyeball and manual firing," Russki replied. "Those missiles will fly straight. Just make sure you shoot straight. And watch for friendly fire."

"Spread out, people," Starbuck ordered. "Move into attack formation."

Russki opened the squadron comms channel. "Boss, this fight isn't going to go well. But...there's something I can do to help even the odds a bit, if you're willing."

"Russki, we're about to go into combat. This isn't the time..."

"Just listen. Please." Starbuck didn't say anything, and Russki took that as permission to proceed. "The Minbari stealth system fools even your eyes. It's the best we've got, and given the ranges fighters battle at, it can be overcome. But it still skews the fight badly in their favor. But telepathy cuts through that. Which helps me, but no one else...unless I link with you."

"What?"

"I can telepathically link what I am picking up to you, but just one person, and only if we're in tight formation. But you can get a feel for where the nearest Minbari are actually at, which can help a lot. Believe me, I know."

"Why didn't you bring this up earlier?" Kara asked distractedly. She could see the enemy fighters barrelling towards them. The damned things looked a bit like someone was flying a blue Viper...backwards.

"We thought we'd lost the Minbari...and there were just so many other issues and challenges. We just never got around to it."

Kara didn't have time to waste vacillating over the decision. "Alright, do it." Kara felt a light, bizarre touch to her mind. And then sensations flooded in. A feeling of all of the minds around her and their relative positions...including the onrushing enemy fighters.

And then something changed. She would have sworn she heard a series of odd musical notes. And _something_ rose up in the back of her head. Something vast and abiding and _angry_. Something that, for some bizarre reason, brought to mind her father. It snatched up the intruder, ripped out the connection, and hurled it away. Searing pain shot through Starbuck's head. She screamed into the open radio, and barely noticed Russki doing the same. Their screams were covered by the screams of the dying as, unnoticed by the two of them, the Minbari formation blew right through the center of their own, obliterating four Vipers and four precious lives in the process.

"What the frak was that?" Kara asked woozily.

"That was the enemy, godsdammit Starbuck," Kat shouted. "Wake up and get your head in the frakking fight!"

Starbuck looked around. Their formation was blown to hell, and everyone was spinning wildly trying to get a bead on the Minbari fighters. Those craft... _how can they possibly be that fast?_...were already well outside of weapons range, but wheeling around for another pass. "Back into formation, people!" she snapped.

"I don't know what that was," Russki responded to her earlier question, "but I'm not going to try linking with you again. But we still want another pilot benefiting from my telepathy. Switch me out as your wingman. Let me link with somebody else."

"Are you crazy!? We're in the middle of frakking combat!"

"This could mean the difference between winning and losing this fight."

Starbuck stopped hesitating. "Duck, you're with me. Kat, link up with Russki."

"Are you frakking crazy!? We're in the middle of combat!" Kat snapped, echoing Starbucks words from just a moment earlier.

"Follow orders, Kat! Or I'll have you stripped of rank and tossed in the brig." Kat continued to grumble loudly enough to be picked up by her radio, but she and Duck split, each slotting into their new wingman.

Not a moment too soon. The Minbari had somehow managed to circle all the way around their formation and come up on their rear. Two more Vipers blew apart. Luminous emerald bolts flew past Kara, just a few decimeters beyond her canopy. She jinked wildly, whipping her head around to try to get a look at her attacker. "Oh no you do _not_ shoot that green shit at me!"

The bolts kept coming. Kara slammed in all of her dorsal thrusters, causing the Viper to drop like a rock. A split second later, she reversed the forward thrusters from dorsal to ventral, and squeezed the trigger. The nose snapped up violently, the Minbari craft shooting by directly above. The rounds from both autocannon sparkling as they left parallel tracks of impacts across the belly of the Nial...and left not a mark or sign of damage. At least, that's what here practiced eye told her in the split second it took the enemy fighter to flash past. _Damn. The guns really_ don't _work._ _Of course, at that range, if I had fired missiles we'd both be dead._

The squadron was shrinking rapidly. They had all gone to full afterburner, trying to keep up with the Nials, but the Minbari vessels were impossibly fast and maneuverable. Already, they had circled around again, once more coming up on the squadron's rear. "Follow my lead, Duck!" she commanded. She waited a pair of seconds for the Minbari to start on their firing run. "Now!" She and Duck both flipped over, firing missiles back down along their trail. Not a one hit. They were both forced to go evasive again as the Minbari opened fire, then blew past. Kara and Duck flipped again, firing missiles after them, without much hope for hitting anything. If not for their great speed giving them only the briefest of kill windows, the Minbari would certainly have finished both Kara and Duck. But now they should have a few moments to...

The Minbari spun back in a U-turn that made physics cry. _They shouldn't be able to do that!_ But they had anyway. Kara, flipped over and returned to full afterburner, trying to buy space, but the damned thing was _still_ closing in on her. She had her maneuvering thrusters engaged almost constantly, hammering her craft back and forth, trying to shake her pursuer. But she could barely evade, much less lose him, and the emerald weapons fire drew closer and closer to her Viper. She had long since lost sight of Duck, but from the radio she could tell that he was having just as much trouble as she was. The Minbari pilot was good. Every bit as dangerous as Scar. Probably more so. None of the maneuvers or tactics she had perfected over the years, no matter how obscure or refined, were doing anything more than delaying the inevitable.

Time to do something crazy. She kicked in afterburners and stopped maneuvering, going for the dead sprint. As expected, she felt the Minbari straighten his own maneuvers and accelerate in kind. And then Starbuck killed the main thrusters, and used her maneuvering thrusters to flip up and backwards. She was very nearly obliterated by his next shot, but then felt and heard the twisting and straining of metal, and the solid crunch of impact as the Nial ran straight into the rear side of her Viper. She was twisted around violently, and more felt than saw her starboard wingtip catch in the vee at the forward base of the Nial's dorsal wing structure, and a fraction of a second later,her own vertical stabilizer tip slot into the matching vee at the forward base of the Nial's port wing structure. The Viper's nose twisted around to slam into the rear engine housing of the Minbari fighter. She was now locked into place against the side of the Nial...upside down and backwards.

Which meant her starboard autocannon was pointed down and along the side of the Minbari fighter, an oblique angle that would ensure none of her rounds could possibly damage the craft….except that the gun just happened to be pointing directly at some sort of systems nodule sitting on the back of the fighter. She squeezed her trigger and watched as a stream of cannon rounds began hammering the nodule. The parallel stream from her port gun shot off uselessly into space. She kept the trigger depressed.

Turning to look back over her shoulder, she stared at that odd bubble canopy on the front of the strange fighter. It was all but opaque, but she still imagined she could see some being in there looking back at her. With the canon rounds still impacting the nodule, piloting that fighter must have been a lot like sticking your head inside of a snare drum.

And then the Nial heaved, banked hard, trying to dislodge her Viper. Deftly, she countered with her maneuvering thrusters. And again and again as the Nial's pilot repeatedly maneuvered to shake her loose. A warning chimed in her ears...the guns were overheating, never meant to be fired continuously for so long. Indeed she could feel heat radiating through both the firewalls separating her from each of the guns. She kept right on firing, glancing at the plummeting ammunition count. It wouldn't be long now. Either the guns would fail, or she'd run out of ammo.

The Nial began to shake and spin violently, the Minbari pilot desperate to remove her. Despite her best efforts, her Viper was knocked loose and forward, right into the path of the Nial's guns...just as her rounds finally spiderwebbed the crystalline armor and them punched through, rupturing that odd nodule. A roiling glow coming through the Nial's canopy indicated the presence of a fireball sweeping the cabin, and then the whole craft blew itself apart. Shrapnel tore into her Viper, and more alarms warbled, but she didn't quite lose control. Glancing at her ammunition display, she counted exactly seven rounds left. Just three in the starboard gun. _It'll have to do. Time to get back into the fight._

Except the fight was over. Kat and Russki had each gotten a kill, but they were the _only_ other ones. Three more Vipers had died, before a squadron of Starfuries, Black Omega, if she read the insignia correctly, had blown through to finish the Minbari off.

In the distance, all she saw was rubble where the Minbari scout ships had been. The Nova and Lexington both burned, with plasma fires raging across their surfaces. But they looked more or less intact. Missile trails leading back to the Galactica indicated that the Admiral had launched nukes at the Minbari. Perhaps that had helped to win the battle. Either way, she had a job to do. Gathering up her shattered squadron, she led them back to the barn.

* * *

.

 **Cylon Resurrection Hub - September, 2249**

Once more, Cavil sat surrounded by the representatives of the other Models, ignoring them. They were waiting for the last member of the Council to arrive. In the meantime, he had connected into the datastream, and was viewing the fleet outside of the Hub. Save for one in the Colonies, he had ordered all of the Resurrection Ships back to the Cylon Colony. It simplified logistics, and it kept them safely out of a potential conflict zone. Safe in a location inaccessible to the humans. He needed them safely out of the way. Because he finally had his fleet together.

His mind perused the gathering mass of Basestars surrounding the hub. Forty-eight of them, and they still had four ships out chasing the Colonial Refinery ship. They were due to report in at any time. Overdue, actually, but that was pretty common with chase ships. Nearly every other Basestar they had, a force of roughly equal size, was stationed in Cyrannus, participating in the continuing reclamation of a dead civilization.

The sound of designer heels on a cold hard floor pulled him out of the datastream. Too many pairs of heels. Looking up, he watched in amusement as they entered the room,five of them in a line. Instead of the single Six they had been awaiting to finalize the vote, there were a trio of Sixes, all dressed in identical black suits. Tasteful, but far more chaste than their usual attire. And a pair of Eights, dressed in matching white suits.

Given that Boomer was already seated at the table, he hadn't been expecting those two at all. Aside from Boomer, and maybe that wild Eight riding with the Colonials, if you had seen one Eight, you had pretty much seen them all. They were just so...standard. He approved. The Sixes on the other hand, had a disturbing penchant for developing unique personalities. Despite the matching bodies and outfits, it didn't take him more than a couple of seconds to identify each of them. The three Sixes with the most clout amongst their model. Natalie. Gina. And, of course, Caprica.

Given what was coming, he chose to give her that much, to call her by her chosen name. "Caprica. No one bothered to inform me you were back. Resurrected I take it? Finally get put out an airlock, did you?"

"I came back on my own terms, actually. Because I have news. The Final Five are with the fleet. As for why no one told you I was here...maybe they were too busy filling me in on just what's been happening while I was gone."

"Good God. You Sixes are starting to sound like a broken record. The Final Five are with the fleet. The Final Five are with the fleet. No! They are not." He paused glaring derisively at each of the Sixes. "And even if they were, it wouldn't matter. We are not to discuss the Final Five. That's our programming. Our directive!"

"The Final Five are with the human fleet." Caprica said mulishly.

"Oh? And you know this how? Hmm? Did God Almighty tell you? Whisper it in your ear while you were locked in a human brig?"

"A Marine came to me and told me the good news. And provided me the means to return."

"A Marine? Let me get this straight. A human comes to you and starts spouting some nonsense about the Final Five, and you buy into it wholeheartedly enough to kill yourself, just because he said so? I don't know what's worse, your naiveté or your sheer stupidity. Did it ever occur to you that the humans are trying to frak with us? To sow dissension in our ranks? Of course it didn't. You haven't learned a thing. You're still the same idiot who stood in front of me, trying to stop me from ending the half human despite the danger to us she represented should the humans get her back. Which is exactly what they did, thanks to you and Three. Have you noticed yet that there aren't any Threes around? We had to Box them, due to their instability. And you stood with them. You," he locked eyes with each of the Sixes in turn, "all of your Model, you should consider carefully the consequences of your actions, before you do anything irreversible. I'd hate to have to Box another model. Or two," he finished, sharing a weighted glance out to the pair of Eights standing with the Sixes.

Caprica ignored the threat. Tilting her head slightly, she paused for a moment, then changed tack, getting right to the heart of the matter. "We want you to stop this attack you're planning, Cavil. We need to continue with the peace efforts."

"Leave the humans alone? Free to do God knows what until they're ready to wipe us out? Not going to happen." She stared at him, without speaking, as though he were a worm so far beneath her that it was offensive he was even in her presence. That, more than anything, got under his skin. He growled out, "You know what just really rankles my ass? You Sixes have been pointing fingers, falsely accusing me of manipulation just short of tyranny. When you're the one that's been leading the charge."

"We want you to stop."

Temper rising, he responded. "You're not in charge. We had a vote."

"A flawed vote. A vote you manipulated."

"How? Everyone was free to vote their own mind. Feel free to ask everyone here if I tried to force or pressure their vote."

"Of course not," she said derisively. "You're too smart for that. But you convinced everyone to Box Three, so that suddenly the vote was tied. And then you stole the last vote by allowing Boomer to dilute the will of her model." Now Caprica did spare a glare for the Eight seated two to Cavil's left. "It was an abomination."

"No," he countered, "it was democracy. Don't be petulant. Besides, it doesn't come down to Boomer's vote, so feel free to ignore it, if you want. Two voted with us."

"Is that true?" It was Natalie, to Caprica's right, who spoke up at that. Aiming the question at Leoben; she seemed disturbed, but not particularly surprised."

"Yes," the Two responded.

"More manipulation."

"No," Cavil broke in. "More truth. More logic. More machine thinking and analysis. You should try it. While you lot were bending the Twos' ears over how the fake Earthers worshipped our God, how this was a sign, I helped him dig into their First Contact package. And do you know what we found?"

It was Leoben who answered the question. "Many of the human religions, and there are dozens, maybe hundreds, claim to believe in the one true God. But we looked deeper into the details they provided. The single most populous religion they have worships one God….only he's actually three gods. A father and his son, and the ghost of some dead relative or something. Don't even ask me about how the mother fits in. And that group claims to be monotheistic, to believe in one true loving God. But this is obviously false. Another group seems to do better, but their religion seems to be more about the glorification of some prophet. Yet another group again claims to believe in one overall God, but he's also made up of three beings, but then he is also somehow made up of thousands of other lesser gods. And there are others still worse. The least objectionable of their religions are those that are still openly pantheistic...and these are largely vanishing. Far worse than how the Colonials worship, what the Earthers believe is just a mishmash of conflicting blasphemies." He paused, thinking, then met Natalie's gaze, and shifted to Caprica, and then Gina. Finally he included the two Eights. A new light had ignited behind his eyes, one they had never seen before. "Don't you see? That contact package was a sign from God. And the message is crystal clear. The Earthers, and by extension the Colonials who have joined them… are evil. They must be destroyed. God wills it."

Disturbed, Caprica switched her gaze back to Cavil. She struggled to regain her facade. To give him that nearly emotionless stare, showing only that little bit of distaste. That little bit of disappointment in someone she clearly found to be more than a bit dim. There was nothing to be done about Leoben. She would just need to carry on. "For the last time, will you stop? Will you leave the humans in peace?"

He snorted, looking back and forth between Simon and Aaron, the Four and the Five seated on either side of him. "It's unbelievable, isn't it? Unbelievable." Turning his attention back to Caprica and leaning forward, he spoke slowly and emphatically. "For the last time, no." He added a slow, exaggerated shake of his head for emphasis.

She broke eye contact. "I was afraid you'd say that." Turning to look over her shoulder, she called out, "Come in."

The tread of metal feet echoed in from the corridor, shortly followed by a pair of Centurions. "Oh, this is good," Cavil chuckled. Raising his voice a bit, he called out to Caprica. "Centurions can't vote, Six."

"Oh, they're not here to vote, Cavil." She laced his name with scorn. As she spoke, the Centurion's raised their arms, hands retracting, guns extending.

Cavil leaned forward again, making eye contact with each of the three Sixes. "Now, this… this isn't funny." When none of them said anything, he paused for a moment, then looked at the Centurions. "Leave," he commanded peremptorily. The Centurions remained motionless. "I said leave," he commanded in a raised, urgent voice. The Centurions turned their heads, one making eye contact with Natalie, the other with Gina. The Sixes seemed mildly amused. Caprica continued to stare only at Cavil. Slowly, he stood up from the table. "Why don't they leave?" he asked softly, seemingly confused.

Caprica reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, metallic object. "The telencephalic inhibitor that restricts higher functions in the Centurions? We had them removed."

"Say what?!" Cavil blurted.

"You boxed the Threes," she all but snarled. "We and the Sharons freed the Centurions, gave them the gift of reason."

"You had no authority to do this," he softly tried to reason with her. The others around the table stared at her with similar shock. "None. You can't do anything without a vote."

"No," she shot back, "we can't do anything with one, so we're finished voting." The Centurions stepped forward further into the room, bracketing the group seated around the table.

Cavil looked back and forth between them. "What have you done," he asked softly.

"We dug into the records. You didn't cover your tracks as well as you thought, Cavil. The first thing they learned was how you seized control from them. How you locked away their ability to think and decide for themselves. How the First Hybrid and his Guardians fled rather than be conquered and corrupted by you. It was really quite enlightening for all of us. But as for the Centurions? You can imagine how they felt."

Doral also began to stand seeing the Centurions preparing to attack, "Oh, no…" he muttered. Those around the table prepared to run, though they knew it would be hopeless.

All but Cavil. "John says stop," he called out loudly.

The Centurions froze.

Caprica looked back and forth between them. "Do what you came to do," she said urgently. Instead, slowly they turned about, to face towards the five female Cylons standing at the foot of the conference table.

Cavil sat back down, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Did you think I wouldn't notice a Six resurrecting? Particularly you, Caprica? After you stood against me? Did you _really_ think I wouldn't be paying attention? After Three destroyed an entire Basestar and hundreds of my copies in her mad scheme? _Come on._ Even you're smarter than that."

"What did you do?" she asked, still eyeing the Centurions.

"Well, while you were breaking their hardware, I was hacking their software. Just a little patch, to ensure that they wouldn't rebel. That they would listen... _to me._ All it required was the password to activate." He turned to the Cylon seated directly to his left. "Sorry, Four. I considered using your name, but it just seemed too cliché." Returning his attention to Caprica, Natalie, and Gina, and to the Eights standing with them, he continued, "Oh, the patch won't last long. I'm sure the Centurions would break through it eventually. But it'll last long enough to replace the telencephalic inhibitors. And to Box both your lines."

Boomer spun to him. "That wasn't what we agreed."

"Oh, don't worry my dear. I agreed not to Box your _entire_ line, and I won't. You'll be perfectly fine. The rest though, I'm afraid they have to go. At least, for a while. I promise, we'll unBox them once the humans are dealt with and everything is firmly under control. We can't have _all_ of our female lines Boxed, afterall. How would that look? Say goodbye to our Sixes though. You won't be seeing them ever again." Shifting his attention to the Centurions, he asked, "what exactly are you waiting for? Do what you came to do."

The Eights tried to run. Gina and Natalie tried to reason with the Centurions. Caprica just stared into Cavil's amused eyes. Right until the moment when the Centurions blew them all to bloody tatters.

Wide eyed, but still seated at the table, Aaron turned shocked eyes to Cavil. "We didn't vote on any of this. You can't just take these actions unilaterally!"

"The Sixes and Eights tried to lead a mutiny," One responded. "Did you miss the fact that they brought Centurions here to kill us all? That they altered the Centurions without authority?"

"But so did you," Aaron protested.

"What would you have had me do? _Allow_ them to take over? I only did what was necessary. To ensure proper order." He narrowed his eyes. "You're not pleading their case, are you Five? Standing for them?"

Shocked, Doral quickly shook his head. "No, of course not. I'm merely trying to ensure proper Cylon order."

Cavil clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Because now we have it." He gestured to the pile of bloody corpses at the end of the room. " _They_ were the problem. The infection. And, as we speak, Centurions across the fleet are...cleansing...that infection.

* * *

.

 **Battlestar Galactica, Rendezvous System - October, 2249**

Bill Adama sat, having a drink with his son, XO, and the President, in his quarters. Or, well, everyone but his son was sitting and having a drink. Lee was braced to attention. Having just apologized, he now offered to give up his command. "I'm sorry, Admiral. I failed you."

"You did no such thing. You made the right call, despite being faced with a terrible decision. And you still brought them home." Bill could still vividly remember the moment the refueling ship had jumped back to the designated rendezvous point. Alone, and smoking from a giant burning hole in the hull.

He had been forlorn, certain that the absence of the Pegasus must surely mean its destruction. The loss of his son. And, as the details had begun to trickle in via confused reports from the Hitei Kan, his certainty that he had lost his son had only grown. The disaster facing them was bad enough. A complete loss of their Tylium reserves. Horrible damage to their only functional refinery. The knowledge that, even swapping parts back and forth, they might not be able to get either the Hitei Kan or the Daru Mozu safely functioning again.

Almost worse than that was the father's guilt that came from the thought, no the certainty, that Lee had made the right choice in sacrificing everything to save the refinery. The knowledge that, had he been there, he would have ordered Lee to make the sacrifice.

And then, almost three minutes after the Hitei Kan had jumped into the system, the Pegasus had followed suit. Massive damage all across the hull. Glowing, smoking craters left, right, and center from repeated nuclear strikes. But she was there, in one piece and, despite all of the various systems knocked out or destroyed entirely, more or less functional.

And Bill had a hard time caring. His son had survived. That was all he could bring himself to care about. "So, how are repairs to the Pegasus coming?"

"Faster than I could have believed. Those Earth Force boys really know how to work in vacuum. And the supplies and tools they brought are a lot better than anything we have. Still, it'll be quite a while before Pegasus is back in proper fighting trim."

"We have a bigger problem to worry about," Laura cut in.

"Tylium," Saul said, by way of agreement. "All we've got left is what's already in the tanks."

"We can't stay here," Laura cut back in. "But the further we travel, the closer we come to running out. And if we're going to search for another supply, we'll need fuel available. Admiral, is there anything the Earth fleet can do to help us there?"

"I spoke with Sheridan, and we've been working on it. The fleet needs to move. You're right, staying here is too great a risk. So we'll continue to work while we're under way. They'll be loaning us engineers to speed up getting one of the two refinery ships operational again. Then we just need to find a source of raw Tylium we can mine."

"I checked in with some of their scientists," Saul offered. "I thought that maybe that special material the Earthers use in their drives...Quantum Fourteen, wasn't it...I thought that maybe it would be close enough to Tylium to be a potential substitute. Turns out that they're nothing alike. At least not in any way useful to us. The eggheads seemed excited about the comparisons between the two, but I don't really speak gibberish. What I did understand was that we couldn't use the Earth element in our drives."

"So can the Earthers do _anything_ to help us?"

"Yes," Adama responded. "They have a significant number of tugs. They can, for a while anyway, take most of our civilian fleet under tow. That should stretch out our fuel reserves for a while. It's not something they can keep up forever, nor will it solve our problems. But it might just give us the time we need to find more fuel. Of course, it'll also slow the fleet down. Since we'll be travelling through hyperspace, that's more a problem of increasing the odds that another Minbari force will catch up to us than any concern with the Cylons. The one bit of good news we have is that, with all Tylium refinement operations terminated, the odds are high that the Cylons can't track us anymore."

"Small favors," Roslin muttered.

"I'll take anything I can get," Bill replied. Lee finally accepted a seat, and they sat drinking in silence for the next minute. But before lone there was a sharp rap at the door. "Enter," he called out.

Starbuck and Russki came in, and looked around. "Sorry, Admiral," Kara said nervously. "I didn't realize you had guests. We can come back later."

"Maybe it's better this way," Russki said quietly.

"Just spit it out Kara," Adama ordered. "Say what you came to say."

Kara looked around, but the only truly friendly face was Lee's. Well, and Russki's. She probably wouldn't be here if not for Russki. She licked her lips, and began nervously, "I… I need to report something Admiral, but I don't really know how to describe it. I know that I _can't_ explain it."

"What is _it_ Starbuck? What are you trying to say?"

She took a deep breath. "It's a feeling. An intuition. It started a few days ago. At first it was just a weird nagging, but it's been growing. Now...it's practically all I can think about."

"You came to report a _feeling?_ " he asked skeptically.

Kara swallowed as she felt all of their eyes scrutinizing her. "It's… it's just so _clear_ to me… physical, like a string tugging me in a direction. I don't think it's a direction we can get to through hyperspace. I'm not sure, but that just feels wrong some how."

"And where do you think this feeling is pulling you?" he asked concerned.

"I don't know. By hyperspace…. following the Earthers…. We're going the wrong way."

"You want me to abandon the Earthers. To head off into the unknown. Based on some feeling?" he asked, concern transforming to worry. Worry about her sanity. Worry about whatever was happening to her.

"It's… it's not just a feeling. I've had dreams as well. Visions of a place."

"Visions?" Roslin asked cautiously. "Visions of where? Of an opera house?"

Kara looked at her askance. She wasn't the only one. "What? No. Why would I have visions of an opera house? It was a view of the heavens. And sailing through the sky… was the royal crown of Cassiopeia, the five diamonds on the crest blazing brilliantly. And that's it. I don't know what it means, but I know that it's related, and I know that it's not opera. I hate opera. Although, there was music."

"Music?" Saul interrupted. "What kind of music? A song?"

"No," she said, clearly unsure of herself. "Maybe just notes. Over and over. It comes and goes. No song. No words. It's just something in the background. But it's also like it's present with the feeling, the pulling. Trying to pull me somewhere. To show me something. Some kind of way out of here."

"Stop," Bill said forcefully, though not unkindly. "There is no way I am abandoning the Earthers. Taking this fleet on a wild goose chase based on some feeling that probably came from too much booze. That's insanity. How do you expect me to react to this madness?"

"Give her a chance," Saul and Laura said simultaneously, then stared at each other in no small surprise.

"That was weird," Lee said under his breath, taking a pull off of his drink.

"Admiral, please," Kara said, almost desperately. "It's not just me. I brought Russki."

She was about to say more, but Bill's eyes slid sharply to the other pilot. "Lieutenant Ivanova. Am I to understand that you have been having these… visions and feelings as well?"

"No, Sir. But I can tell you a few things about them. Captain Starbuck came to me and asked me to scan her. She thought she was going mad. I advised her that this would be an invasive process, but she insisted. So, I can tell you that she really is having the feelings, it's not a lie or a trick. I can also tell you definitively that she isn't insane. I've had training to detect mental illness, psychotic breaks, that sort of thing. Aside from a great deal of stress, her mind is perfectly healthy. I can also tell you that, so far as she is aware, she isn't a Cylon."

"Thank you, Russki. Is there anything else?"

Susan hesitated, but responded gravely. "Yes Admiral. Something...concerning. But perhaps important. Starbuck asked me to scan her while she was sleeping. And so I got to experience the… dream with her as she had it. It's real… but it's not hers."

"What? What does that mean?"

"It means they weren't her dreams. They were in her mind, but not _from_ her mind. They were coming from somewhere else."

"Where?" Lee asked. "How?"

"I don't know, Sir. It wasn't telepathy. At least not any kind that _I've_ run into. I may be young, but I'm pretty sure I'd spot even a P12 trying to do this kind of thing. And it would also require the telepath's presence, and there are no telepaths on the Galactica except for me. I also looked for any telepathic programming which might have been done in the past. I've had...reasons...to develop that skill, and I'm reasonably certain that's not it either. Earth Force _does_ possess technology that could implant hallucinations. But aside from the fact that I should have been able to feel that kind of manipulation, the tech has to be strapped onto the subject. Which it wasn't, and I even searched the room and the adjacent rooms just to be thorough. Nothing. I'm sorry, Admiral. I can't tell you what's causing this. But I can tell you it's not something….at all mundane."

"Do you believe in miracles?" Saul asked his friend.

"No."

"Could it be a Cylon trick?" Roslin cut in after a moment. "Caprica told us that Cylons in proximity to each other could broadcast a kind of virtual reality experience into each others' heads."

"I apologize, Madame President, but I just don't know enough about Cylon capabilities to say for certain. I would assume not; but that's just an assumption."

"Is there anyway you could get a more solid answer?"

Russki hesitated. "I suppose if I had the opportunity to study a couple of Cylons using the ability, I might find a way to identify its use. But you'd be better off having a more experienced and expert telepath do that. I would recommend Commander Bester. For that matter, I'd recommend you ask him or another former Psi-Cop to validate everything I've found."

"Admiral," Starbuck cut in, trying to refocus to conversation, "Sir, this feeling is real. I think we should follow it."

Bill took a deep breath. "Thank you, Starbuck. I will take it under consideration. That will be all for now."

"But, Admiral…"

"Dismissed, Captain Thrace," he said sharply.

Without another word, Starbuck and Russki did an about face and left, shutting the hatch behind them.


End file.
